Empty Decisions
by Principessa Di Morte
Summary: When an old partner comes back from Peter's past, everything he holds dear in his life is threatened-including his unassuming, charming, new partner-turned-friend. Whump warning!
1. Old Friends, New Foes

**A/N: Helloo. This is**__**a whumpy story, if you don't like that, you shouldn't read it. It is also a friendship/family fic. NOT SLASH. Sorry if the characters seem kinda OOC, especially at the beginning but it had to be for the story. Also, I am aware that this is not accurate, like at all, with the building and locations and crap, but come on, it's a fanfic. It doesn't have to be perfect, right? ;) Also very angsty, cuz I'm a very morbid person. Have fun! Or, rather…. Yeah**

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Neal Caffery never thought of himself as brave. Clever, maybe, even stealthy. He was confident in his skills enough to be able to pull his shenanigans off. But not brave. The other day, when that gun had been pointed at him… when she pulled the trigger…. Neal thought he was going to die. Seriously. The only thing that had saved him was that book….he now knew exactly what people meant when they said they saw their life flash before their eyes. And how exceedingly terrifying it was.

_Never again, _Neal thought as he walked into the office. _I just can't keep doing this…._ _I'm sorry, Pete. I'm so sorry._

* * * *

Peter Burke was not in a good mood. His last report hadn't been accepted, Neal was late, and their latest baddie happened to be very elusive.

"Scotts! Get me that file!"

"Yessir, sorry sir."

Peter rolled his eyes. Weak. Just then, the far door swung open. Neal strode in. Peter started over, but stopped when he saw the expression on Caffery's face. That was way too serious for Neal. He spotted him, though, and began walking towards Peter.

"Neal. Where've you been?"

"We need to talk."

Crap. That did _not _sound like Neal. What was going on?

"Well… alright. Uh.. Follow me."

Neal did, silently, which worried Peter even more. The pair made their way through the building until they reached a small office, away from the chaos and bustle. Peter unlocked the door and let Neal in, then walked in after him and shut it. He turned to face the younger man.

"So what's up?"

Neal sighed, pressing his lips together. "I… I can't do this anymore."

Peter was taken aback for a moment. "Excuse me?"

Neal sat on the edge of the desk and rubbed his face.

"I can't… can't work with you. Can't be a consultant.

Peter stared. "Neal… listen, you've just got off a very difficult case. I understand that. You could've died, and that totally freaks you out. You just need a break, maybe with some time.."

"No. I'm sorry, Pete. I… at least jail was safe."

"Neal, listen to yourself! You don't really—."

"It would've hit my heart."

"… What?"

"If the book hadn't been there… the bullet would've hit my heart. I would've _died, _Pete."

Peter closed his eyes. _That's _what it was.

"But you didn't."

"Pete-."

"No. Shut up. You didn't, and you won't. As long… as long as you're with me… you'll be safe."

There were a few moments of silence, the two men staring at each other. Finally, the slyest of grins grew on Neal's face.

"There's a hidden sentiment in there somewhere, I just know it."

Peter chuckled. "So we're good?"

Neal sighed. "Yeah."

Without another word, the two turned and left the office, quickly walking through the halls.

"Well, I'm glad you came around. This just might be our hardest case y-."

His words halted quite suddenly as the pair turned a last corner and were met with a horrific but frighteningly calm scene.

At least six gunmen, all dressed completely in black, were keeping the dozen agents on the floor in a tight circle in the middle of the room. One, who was obviously the leader, was pacing, spouting out orders. But the shouts stopped as he pivoted to face the two new entries.

There was an infinitely long moment of calm, the frozen peace before the storm. Then the leader turned furiously to an accomplice.

"I thought you said you had everybody." His voice was dangerously low.

"I-I-I'm sorry, sir. They must've been-I mean, I didn't, they came in a back way, I-."

He never got a chance to finish as the leader brought up his gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit precisely in the center of the man's forehead.

"Smith, go make sure Hates didn't miss anyone else."

The man he'd gestured to practically sprinted away.

The leader turned to Neal and Peter and gestured. "Evening, gents. Care to join us?

Peter glanced at Neal and nodded slightly. They slowly stepped over and sat down at the edge.

"Right. Now that we-hopefully-have everybody, let's get started. I used to know this guy. Worked with him a little quite a few years back. Excellent agent. But then… he turned against me. Betrayed me. I wanna talk to him."

Peter knew then. He remembered that case. Unbelievably, his old partner-_Clemence_- was back. A small knot of panic began to rise in his chest, but he kept up a cool façade. Until, that is, Clemence turned and cocked his gun, placing it on Neal's forehead.

"Where's Peter Burke?!"

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**A/N: Oo. That was kinda short. Next one will be longer, I promise. Should be up tomorrow, too. So until then, leave lots of reviews! They are the chee to my toes! 3 **


	2. Leverage

CH. 2

Peter knew Clemence would pull the trigger. Probably without any qualms, too. He didn't know exactly why he wanted Neal to live so much. He tried to tell himself it was just because he was probably the best dang consult this department would ever get, but really, he knew that wasn't it. The two shared a bond now, a nearly unseverable one, after these unbelievable years, and…. Seeing the terrified look the ex-con's face, his crystal blue eyes wide with horror…. If Neal were actually to die---

"Stop!"

Clemence pulled the gun off of Neal's sweaty forehead and turned it towards Peter.

"I-I'm Peter. You want me."

Clemence cocked his head. "You look different."

Peter shrugged.

"Come with me."

The agent obediently stood up and trailed the man, who led him to a barely-used wing. They traversed down a dusty hall and into a large, old office.

"Have a seat," Clemence offered, gesturing with his gun hand to a plush wooden-framed chair on the other side of an oak-paneled desk.

"Well, Petey, it's been a long time."

"Not long enough." Peter spat.

"Ooo, harsh. Anyway, I had a few questions and figured you, being.. well, you, would still be here and would be the best person to ask."

Peter clenched his jaw.

"So unfriendly. Well, as long as I get what I want. First off is an easy one. Who worked the Shaw case?"

Silence filled the musty air. Clemence shook his head. "Now don't be tenacious, Petey. I traveled a long way to get here. It's a simple question. Who. Worked. The Shaw case?......." There was a sigh. "Alright. I really didn't want to do this, Petey. I noticed you found a friend."

A slight gesture brought in two very large guards, carting between them none other than Neal, looking even paler than usual. The door slammed forebodingly behind them. Peter swore under his breath.

"That's what I thought."

"What do you want, George?"

"You remembered my name. I'm touched." He stood and slowly walked around the desk, trailing his finger in the dust. He eventually got to Peter and crouched so he was nearer the agent's ear. "You know what I want."

Peter shook his head. Clemence straightened and pulled out a long object that glistened in the light. A knife.

"You'd be surprised how many… tactics… I've learned since leaving."

Peter's face slackened. Clemence drew nearer to Neal, who was visibly trembling in his captor's arms. George pulled out a lighter and flicked it on, running it up and down the blade.

"Sawyer!"

He stopped. An eyebrow cocked. "See? That wasn't so hard." He suddenly turned and drove the now-searing hot knife into Neal's forearm a good inch, down off-center between two veins.

A surprised, choked cry tore from Neal's throat and the guards dropped him and left at their leader's command. Neal curled around his injured wrist, grasping it, trying to avoid the blade that still protruded from the wound. Peter shot up and lunged toward the fallen man, but was violently shoved back into the chair by Clemence.

"I gave you what you wanted!"

"Oh, that was just a demonstration. We are far from done. Stay there or I'll be forced to tie you."

He walked back over to Neal and squinted at him, then crouched.

"So weak. How pathetic." His voice rose a little in merry mocking as he turned his head toward his former partner. "Honestly, Petey, I thought you'd find someone a little…" He grasped Neal's arm and pulled the knife out, bringing forth a gasp from him. "Stronger."

Blood slid down Neal's wrist and onto the crème-colored carpet. He clutched it to his chest, sweat pouring down his face.

"Leave him out of this."

"Sorry, no can do. I know agents are trained to endure torture, so it wouldn't help much if I did anything to you. However…. You seem to have formed quite the soft spot for this…. Criminal. I don't care how or why, but you have. This… this is much more effective." His grin was malicious. Peter knew he wouldn't stop until Neal was dead.

"What else do you want to know?"

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**A/N: Crap, that was really short, too. Okay, I swear the next one will make up for this **_**and **_**the last. Pinky promise. :] Reviews are the pepper to my mint. **


	3. Family Ties

**A/N: So sorry it took so long. The time flew by I can't believe it's been three days already!! **

**Penguino: Thank you much! Next? Um.. lots. Heehee. **

**RascalFlatts: You're very welcome. My pleasure… Ooo.. I feel like such a freak saying that about that… lolz. XD **

**Dragonbriar: Ooh, I love that description, thanks!! Here's more!**

**Katie: I'm afraid it's not quite explained yet, but will be in time. For now, enjoy this second helping of angsty whump and intrigue. ;)**

**Lelann37: No, I'm afraid he's going to have quite a bit of trouble here. **

**AnneWentworth: you are welcome! Glad you like it!**

**YukinaKid: That makes me feel better. :] Muchas gracias.**

**Mayo: Hope this one's better! Haha. **

**Aingeal Logan: Sorry it took so long! Enjoy.**

**Cheetahsaurus: Don't worry. He won't be. In fact, I think you'll be very pleased with the remaining chapters. Read on. **

**Spookysister: here you are**

**ShadowWolfDagger: Thank you! Playing out below…**

**Love you guiz. And on we go!! **

CH. 3

Neal couldn't believe what was happening. He really shouldn't have come today. White-hot flames of agony shot up his arm to his shoulder, and he could feel his own blood slip through his fingers and to the floor. And it wasn't going to end anytime soon, he could tell. This man was a maniac!

Even so… he was right. Neal was being pathetic. He'd suffered worse than this… right? He pulled himself up from the floor and leaned against the wall, wiping the blood off his hand and sending Peter a reassuring smile.

"Feeling better? That's good. I'm afraid, if Peter is anything like he used to be, you're in for a lot more today. Terribly sorry. I don't like to do it, you know."

Neal would have shot him some witty retort, but Clemence had turned away from him and was walking back to Peter.

"Now, Petey… Isn't this fun? Just like old times. Anyhoo… Next question."

This guy was enjoying this _way _too much.

"Oh. Right. That bible you recovered? Where is it?"

With a puzzled but still steely look, Peter answered, "where it was stolen from."

Clemence narrowed his eyes. "Dangerous attitude, Petey. I thought you'd be more sensitive than that. Apparently you don't care as much as I thought you did."

He walked over to Neal and withdrew the knife again, brandishing it threateningly over his shoulder. The only reaction Neal gave was a nervous glance.

"It was a… a church. With the mob boss."

Clemence raised an eyebrow, then shook his head and muttered something into his wrist.

"Right. Be just the least bit more cooperative, won't you? I'm not doing any harm."

At that, Neal snorted. Clemence gave him a bemused glance. "Where do you live now, anyway, Petey?"

Peter immediately tensed. There was no way he was endangering Elizabeth.

"Oh, lighten up, Petey. It was just a friendly question. Nothing more. Unless you want it to be."

Peter swallowed, grinding his teeth.

"Truth be told, I already know where you live."

Peter froze for a moment, then relaxed. "You're bluffing."

"Am I? Tell me, is this address wrong, then?"

He was handed a worn slip of paper with the exact address of his home on it. Red clouded his vision.

"You didn't even recognize me! How could-."

"Relax, Petey. It's not like I've been stalking you. I just got curious, wondering where my old buddy was, how he was doing. Very well, obviously."

"Until you came along."

Clemence _tsk_ed. "You need to learn how to be nice once in a while, Petey. It's not healthy to be so uptight."

"I'm not… 'nice'… to criminals."

"Oh? How about him?"

Neal stared at Peter, his gaze chilling. It seemed to be echoing the same question.

"He's no longer considered a felon. He is a consultant."

"Psh. You've gotten soft."

Peter saw it then. Clemence was only keeping Neal with them because he knew Neal meant something to Peter. But just maybe….

"Soft? I haven't gone soft."

"Really? So, you're telling me you don't care about him?" Clemence pointed to Neal with the knife.

Peter licked his lips. "Nope. Like you said, he's a criminal. I see it now. He.. he means nothing to me."

It was all Peter could do not to wither under Neal's shocked stare. He stared instead at Clemence, who almost looked slightly agitated. Had he made a mistake?

"Then why were you so broken up earlier when I hurt him?"

"He's still a person. It was cruel. I work for the FBI, I'm not going to stand by and let you torture someone, even if I do consider them a 'criminal'. He's not a serial killer."

Clemence looked thoughtful for a moment, then circled to the back of Neal. He suddenly dropped to his knees and grabbed Neal around his torso, trapping his arms. The younger man started, eyes wide, muscles tense. Clemence brought his knife hand around and pressed it against Neal's chest, right above his heart. Peter struggled furiously to hide his growing panic.

"So you're telling me that if I shoved my hand in right now, that it wouldn't hurt you in the least?"

"Of course it would! I just talked about this. I'm _not _going to let you stand by and let you _murder_ someone."

"I sense some passion, Petey."

"I'm in the FBI. My whole life is about fighting crimes and murder, of course there's passion."

"Now you know that's not what I meant." Without warning, Clemence moved the knife down and slashed it across Neal's ribcage, leaving a gash at least eight inches long and two deep, if not more.

Neal couldn't keep back the grating yell that escaped his lips. Peter jumped up instinctively, and Clemence laughed loudly.

"See? I told you, Petey." He shoved Neal to the ground with a disdainful expression.

Neal gritted his teeth hard and lay there, good arm wrapped around his abdomen. Clemence slunk back over to Peter, who was seething.

"He means nothing to you, huh? Well, I'm betting she does." Clemence turned around the laptop that had been sitting on the desk, previously undisturbed.

Peter's eyes bulged at a live feed of Elizabeth, sitting pale and frozen at their kitchen table. Behind her stood a man with a silenced, sawed off revolver. He was holding it to her head. Peter stood, knocking the heavy wooden chair to the floor, causing a leg to break off.

Elizabeth saw him, and whispered, "Peter? Help. Please… Peter….

"You let her go!"

"Well. We certainly hit the mark, didn't we?"

"What do you want with me, George?!"

"I've told you-"

"Enough with the BS, tell it to me straight! I know you, Clemence, and you have an ulterior motive."

Clemence grew sober, leaning in and hissing in Peter's ear. "You know what, _Petey?_ You're right. Do you have any idea what you did to me after you ran, after you _left me for dead?!_"

"That's not how it-"

"Your turn to shut up, Burkes. You asked me my motive? I wanna see you suffer. Just like me. Only, I'm taking it a step further. You know what's even worse than going after a man's physical being? Going after his mentality, his family, his friends… his very life. You tear it to pieces. That's what's worse."

A slow, evil grin split Clemence's face. "Think of it this way. I'm being nice. After all…. I'm only going to take one thing. I'm even letting you choose which."

Understanding dawned on Peter, and he turned to Clemence. "No. No! You can't. I won't."

"Oh, then I'll just have to choose for you."

Clemence turned and opened a drawer in the desk, taking out a pistol. He strode back out into the middle of the room, confident, in control.

"Let's see…. Which to kill? I always did like doing it myself…" He turned to Neal, extending the gun.

"Wait."

Clemence turned to him expectantly.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "You… take me. Shoot me instead."

"No!" Elizabeth screamed. Neal's head snapped up, eyes wide and shocked. He slowly shook his head.

"You---you can't…." The hoarse whisper was a far cry from Neal's usual charming boom.

Clemence glanced at the three parties, grinning wildly. "As much as I'd love to, Petey, I'm afraid that's not how it works. You've got five minutes."

And with that, he sat at the desk chair, smiling smugly.

Neal crawled over, grunting with the pain and effort. He reached Peter's feet and climbed to his knees.

"Pete…. Tell him me. You've gotta…. You can't let him shoot Elizabeth. I'm not… I'm not scared to die. Not anymore. Just tell him. Get it over with."

Peter dropped his head into his hand, biting his lip. Somewhere deep inside, he knew Neal was right. He could never give the order to kill his own wife… And Neal was a criminal, wasn't he? He would spend his life in jail anyway, wouldn't he? No. What was he_ thinking_? He couldn't…. But Elizabeth….

"George. Listen to reason. Please, you were a smart guy…. You're telling me to choose someone to kill!"

"Yeah. Between your _wife_ and a _felon_. Really, Peter? Come on, it can't be that hard."

"I can't condemn someone to death! It's against every-"

Clemence pulled the gun up. "Sorry, Peter. Wrong move."

Peter saw his finger pull the trigger back. He heard the gunshot. He heard Elizabeth's scream in the background. He even saw Neal fall, but it didn't really register. Until. Until Neal's shocking, desperate, agonized blue eyes met his, and it snapped Peter out of his reverie like a rock out of a taut slingshot. Then Peter's heart stilled and dropped like a stone, as his whole world became the man before him, lying in a pool of blood, pouring from a whole in his left side.

"Oh…." Peter sank to his knees beside Neal, tearing off his jacket and ripping the sleeves off. He didn't even notice that Clemence had left, or that Elizabeth was still watching. His life consisted of Neal and only Neal, this former forger that had gone from enemy to accomplice, to best friend, to…

Peter shook his head. Indifference, that's what he needed.

"Neal. I need to look at your back. Do you think you can roll onto your side for me?"

Eyelids fluttering, Neal did so, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. Peter gently but quickly pulled his jacket and shirt up, cursing violently when he found no exit point.

"Pete…"

"Yeah, Neal. Right here."

"It didn't come out, did it?"

"… No. But that's okay, we'll-."

"You've gotta get it."

"What?"

"I—I've done it before. You have… to take…. The bullet out."

"No, Neal, we'll call an ambulance, they'll be here in no time."

"No … phone. Check … door." Peter stood and pulled on the door handle, swearing upon finding it locked. Slowly, realizing the awful truth of Neal's soft words, checked his pockets for a cell phone and found none.

"How did you..?"

"Tell ya later."

"Wait… Elizabeth!! She can call!"

"Police…. Yeah. Make sure they bring… all units." He winked. "But they'll take too long. Face it, Pete… gotta do it. Elizabeth… can help."

Taking a breath, Peter nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"Just…. One question."

"Anything."

"Got any tweezers?"

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**A/N: Much better length, right?? I'm a horrible person, I know. So so mean. And to be honest, it only gets worse. *wince* Hold on for a couple more chapters, Neal. Reviews are the spinal to my tap.**


	4. I Heard A Knocking

CH. 4

**A/N:** **Lemme just say right now that I am not in any medical profession, nor have I ever seen a bullet removed. Alas, I am only a fourteen-year-old teenager who tries to be remotely accurate with her writing. You'll excuse me for any mistakes. :] btw, this one?.. not for the squeamish. Even I'm a little surprised at my brutality. I'm a monster, I know. But we all love it so, so sue the whumpers, haha. Hope I don't scare you guys away. ;)**

"Where's the lighter?"

"The one … Clemence used?"

"Yeah."

"I… think he put it in the desk. Why?"

"You need to sanitize the stuff."

"Oh. Right."

Peter went back to the desk to look for the lighter. Elizabeth called his name, and he stopped for just a moment.

"What is it?"

"I called the police… they're on their way. But he's right…I looked it up, and…. Peter… based on the rate of blood loss and shock progression, he could die in as little as twelve minutes! And how are you supposed to get it? You don't know what to do, you're not a surgeon! And you don't have the right tools… he could die from the pain alone!"

"Elizabeth!" She became silent. "Listen. I know all that, and it scares the heck out of me. I don't want to do this anymore than you, anymore than _Neal_, but like you just said, I have to. There's no other way. You can stay on, or I can turn you off. But I have to do this thing now. Neal knows how, he'll guide me."

Elizabeth nodded. "Okay. Okay. Leave me on."

Peter smiled reassuringly and turned to rummage through the drawers, searching for the lighter. It had been shaped like a snake…. He emerged victorious, pulling the silver tool out from the third drawer. He jogged back to Neal and knelt beside him, laying the lighter out next to a sharp pocketknife, a pair of tweezers, and a pile of cloth pieces from his suit jacket.

"Right… ready?"

"'Course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Heh. So… what first?"

"You have to …. Cut away my shirt… wipe the blood off."

Peter picked up the pocketknife and slid it under the shoulder of Neal's vest. He pulled up, cutting the seams. After doing the same with the other shoulder, he was able to peel the top away, getting it out of the way. He then gently grabbed part of Neal's shirt, near the armpit, and carefully stuck the knife through it, dragging it down until Caffrey's entire left side was exposed. Peter grimaced at the bloody mess.

He picked up a piece of his jacket and laid it over Neal's side, tenderly wiping the blood off the entry wound. Neal hissed, eyes shut tight. Man, it killed Peter to do this. And they'd barely even started.

"Peter…four minutes." Came the hushed whisper from the laptop, just loud enough so Peter could barely hear it, and Neal couldn't at all.

"Okay. Gotcha. Neal, what next?"

"You've gotta… open the wound. Heat up the knife."

Peter nodded, using the lighter's flame to eliminate any germs on the smooth, sharp surface.

"Right. Now… listen. You're going to have to… open the hole up more… so you can… get the bullet out. Start about… half an inch above.. and cut down…. To the same distance.. below."

Neal set his jaw as Peter moved in with the knife. He hesitated. "How deep?"

"How deep do you think you need?"

Peter took a calming breath, and lowered the knife, pressing it to Neal's torn skin. The aforementioned immediately tensed, barely holding back a cry. Peter desperately tried to ignore it, pressing harder into the discolored skin. Neal was gasping, battling vehemently against unconsciousness. Peter needed him awake, needed him to tell him what-

"Aaugh!"

Peter had to consciously reject his automatic reaction to pull away. He could hear Elizabeth's soft sobbing from the computer.

"Sunuva… Aaah…"

Peter finally pulled the knife out, slick with blood—Neal's blood. He fought back a sudden urge to vomit.

"Alright. Just breathe, Neal. Take it easy. We're almost there."

"Yeah. Almost there. You're…. you're doin' good." Sweat and blood completely soaked through his Neal's shirt, and his eyes were glassy. His hands trembled, and his teeth were clenched hard, but he kept his expression firm, determined. And in that moment, Peter knew he'd get through this.

He shuffled on his now-blood-soaked knees to the desk, taking in the image of his distraught wife. Her cheeks were red, and her lips quivered. But her eyes shone with a hidden strength. She knew that they'd get through this, too. Neal was strong.

"How long?"

"Not very. But … you're doing great, honey. It doesn't look like it hit anything important, anyway, or else…. He'll be fine. Keep going."

Peter nodded, turning back to the trembling Neal. He heated the tweezers without a word, then moved back into a position where his hands would be free and steady.

"Okay… almost done. You can do this, alright? Neal?" There was the slightest of nods from the younger man.

"Yeah… he was…aiming. Up… So… trajectory… gonna be.. that way. Not… too far…. Just.." He grabbed Peter's wrist with a strength that surprised him. "Just keep going… no matter what. You have to… have to get it out…."

Peter clenched his jaw. "Yeah. I know."

Peter carefully inserted the slim tweezers into Neal's wound, not able to completely block out the gurgling gasp. He kept going, further into his skin, into his body… _Stop thinking like that! _He grabbed the knife, using it to lift the skin so he could better see and manipulate the tweezers.

Neal was screaming. He didn't have another word to use. Agonized, shredding yells tore from his throat, but he kept still. His fists were clenched so hard there were slits of red in his palms.

Peter swallowed, turning the tweezers. He froze suddenly. There was… something. Something that shouldn't be there.. he'd found it. He went after it, but his muscles locked at the next scream that ripped through the air. He couldn't do this…. He couldn't…. he had to. The knife rose just a fraction, and he pushed the tweezers the last two inches, grabbing hold of the bullet… and slipping. The metal was slick with blood and trapped between two ribs. Peter let off a string of expletives that nearly drowned out Neal's cries. Nearly. He tried again, not stopping this time when the tweezers failed to grab hold of the surface, but keeping them there, grabbing again. And the next time…. They held. Peter sent a silent prayer of thanks up, slowly… carefully… pulling it out. Neal realized what was happening and somehow resisted curling in on himself… It would be over soon.

Peter saw it…. Too late. On his way out, he hit an artery. He saw it, he tried to avoid it, but couldn't stop the knife from nicking the side. Peter pulled both tools completely out and frantically grabbed for the cloth at his side, bunching it up and pressing it to the hole in Neal's side, the hole that was spurting his very life from it.

Peter didn't notice for a moment, but soon, the unearthly silence that had settled over the room reached him. Neal had stopped screaming. He should have been grateful… but that meant…

Peter lunged up to his face, desperately leaning and putting his ear by Neal's mouth, eternally grateful for the breath that hit his cheek. Just to be sure, he pressed two fingers against Neal's neck, sagging at the thready beat against his fingers. He looked to Elizabeth and nodded. She sat back, dropped her head into her hands, and cried. Peter kept his hand against Neal's side, realizing someone was pounding on the door.

"Police! Is anyone in there? We heard yelling."

"Yeah! Agent Peter Burkes. And… and Neal Caffery. We need help in here!"

"Alright! We'll be in in two minutes. Is anyone hurt?"

"Yes! My.. my friend. He's been shot."

"Okay, sit tight, we'll be right in."

Peter sat back, never letting go of Neal's side, not when the police finally broke the door down, not when they got him on a gurney, not when the paramedics transferred him to the ambulance. Only when his hand was pried off, only when they took him away, only when he knew… _knew_… Neal was safe did his hand move. He finally looked down, while he was waiting for the surgery to end. His hands were stained in red. The red of Neal's life, the life that was still being saved in the room across the hall.

But Peter knew. Neal would be okay. And now he knew…

"That man is indestructible," he muttered, leaning back in his chair and relaxing for the first time in what felt like years.

**A/N: ****I did warn you. Woo! Another longer one. Reviews are the Vicoden to my House. 3 **


	5. Unfriendly Fire

CH. 5

**A/N: You know the bad thing about FanFiction?? They don't let you do less than signs. And just for the record…. About the note last chappie… I DON'T have a Vicoden addiction, I was referring to the show House, M.D. Just to clear up confusion cuz I got a few comments. X] (You'd get it if you watched the show—which you should, because it's the other **_**best show on TV**_**)**

Pain. He remembered pain like nothing else he'd ever felt. And… Peter. And Elizabeth. And…. Clemence!! The gun…. His eyes shot open, only to squeeze tight again at the harsh light that assaulted them. After a moment, he opened them again, slowly this time. After blinking a couple times, he was able to look around. He was .. in a hospital. There was someone sitting by his bed… Peter! So he'd done it. He'd gotten the bullet out. And Neal wasn't dead. Not bad.

Peter's head snapped up at the rustle from the bed. Neal winced, taking in his bloodshot eyes and few extra gray hairs around his temples…. Even almost a little stubble.

"Wow, Pete… you look like crap."

Peter stared at him incredulously for a moment, speechless. "I….?" Then, the corner of his lip turned up, and he started to chuckle. It soon turned into a full-blown laugh, and he bent over, gasping. Neal grinned, struggling to breathe easy.

"Pete… stop laughing… You're making me…"

Peter glanced up and abruptly tried to stifle his chortling. Just then, a nurse walked in, smiling broadly. She set a tray down by Neal's bed.

"I see you're up, Mr…" She went to consult his chart, but Neal beat her to it.

"Caffrey. Neal Caffrey."

"And I'm Anna. Well, I was going to do an hourly check-up, but since you're awake now, I'll get the doctor. Should be here in a jif."

Neal nodded his thanks and she hurried out of the room with a giggle.

"She's into you."

"Who isn't?"

Peter smiled. "Still the same old Neal, then."

"Of course. You didn't think a little bullet was going to change anything, did you?" The ex-con grinned cheekily, looking for all the world like he was perfectly fine.

Peter turned his gaze away. He'd talked to the doctor earlier.

_The man was middle-aged, with a warm smile that could comfort the coldest of hearts. He was a man who'd saved many lives, you could tell. _

_"Agent Burke…"_

_"Yes?"_

_"My name is Dr. Werrel. I was one of the surgeons who operated on Neal Caffrey. When we went in for surgery… You said he'd been shot, but there was no bullet in the wound. Nor was there an exit wound."_

_"I… I know."_

_"May I ask what happened?"_

_Peter shifted his feet. "I had to .. remove it."_

_The doctor's eyebrows lifted just a tad. "You took it out? By yourself?"_

_"Well, technically, it was Neal. I just… well, yes."_

_"You do realize what could've happened?"_

_"I realize."_

_Dr. Werrel put a strong hand on Peter's shoulder. "That's good. I was just going to tell you that it was a miracle. The place it was in… if that was in there any longer than that, I can honestly say I don't think he would've made it."_

_Peter looked up, almost smiling. "Oh, yes, he would've."_

_"Excuse me?" _

_"Oh, sorry, doctor. I don't mean to be rude, but Neal… he would have made it. Maybe not so… I wouldn't say easily, but you get the picture. But he would have lived, I can promise you that much." _

_Dr. Werrel's lip turned up. "Is that so?"_

_"That is so."_

Peter almost smiled at the memory. He honestly believed what he'd told the doctor about Neal. The agent turned to the ex-con, who looked pre-occupied, off in a dream-state of his own. Peter wondered what he was thinking.

_**Two years ago…**_

Neal's chest was burning. His heart felt like exploding, his legs were going to collapse any second now, but he kept running, fueled by the racket of machine gun fire behind him. A couple feet to the right, another man sprinted, keeping pace with Neal. He had short, choppy black hair and high, defined cheekbones. His sharp green eyes tracked all over the humid forest around him. This man wasn't even out of breath.

"How do you do that?" Neal questioned.

"What?" The man inquired, glancing over at Neal.

"Run like that. And not get tired," Neal panted back, feeling sticky sweat dripping between his shoulder blades.

"Lots of exercise," the man replied with a cocky grin.

A rain of bullets showered around the two and their pace picked up. The man had a wild look in his eyes, almost feral, and he turned, producing a hidden gun from somewhere and firing once. Neal turned, wide eyed, stunned for a moment.

"You… I didn't think…"

"Hey, keep running."

The man nudged Neal's shoulder and he continued on, still somewhat in a state of shock.

"Where did that gun come from?! You told me you didn't have one!"

"Forget it, Caffrey. Come on!"

Neal, frowning, did so, nearly tripping on a tree root in the process. The man reached out a hand and caught him. Their eyes met, and in that moment, infinite trust passed between the two gazes, and all was immediately forgiven.

"Hey," Neal began, but the man cut him off.

"Later," he said, pulling Neal forward.

The two continued their fiery, dangerous dance, dashing through a haze of hot lead, misfires hitting trees and showering sharp pieces of wood on them. And on they went… Until…

Neal probably wouldn't have noticed had the man not been in front of him. But in front of him he was, so Neal saw the sight all too clearly. The sight that would haunt him the rest of his days, forever burned into his memory. The one that would wake him, screaming and trembling, for years after.

It would've looked like the man had just tripped, if not for the blood. That harsh red liquid that splattered on the damp brown soil, puddled on the big, coarse leaves.

Neal couldn't do anything but stare at the hole that had suddenly appeared in the man's shoulder. But then, he hit the ground, cried out, and Neal was forcefully broken from his reverie.

"Oh my… _David!_"

He ran over and knelt in the now-wet ground, hands trembling, flying uselessly over the mess that had been David's left shoulder.

"N—neal…. Go…"

"G—what? No! No. I'm not—no."

Their pursuers are broke into the clearing they landed in, and the leader marches up to Neal. He sneered.

"Good luck with that, Pretty Boy," he snarled before turning and marching off, the rest of his troops following him.

"What…?"

David almost laughed. Blood had gathered on his lips, and it horrified Neal. David spit his next words out, sputtering.

"H-he… doesn't care about you… as much. Wanted me dead… wants you—to watch me---die…."

"What? No! You're—you're not going to die, okay? They're gone now, we can get help."

David closed his eyes. "You always were the optimist. But… not this time, Neal. We're too far out. By… the time you got help… it'd be too late. Just… go. Get outta here. I mean it, Neal, I'm not going to argue this time."

Neal set his jaw. "And neither am I. What do I have to do to save you? Just until we get help."

David glanced at him, and Neal could almost—almost—see pride in the man's eyes.

"Fair enough. If you… really want to do this…"

"I'll do anything."

"Well, first.... you're gonna hafta... dig this… thing... outta my shoulder."

Neal looked away for a moment before nodding. "Right. Tell me what to do."

David was silent a minute, but then he looked up, into Neal's bright, young eyes. "Th—thanks, Neal…"

Neal struggled to keep collected, searching for that devil-may-care attitude he always put on. He grinned shakily.

"Hey. Don't mention it. After all, what are brothers for?"

* * * *


	6. Memories Unwanted

**A/N: Yikes. Sorry 'bout the wait (you know life…). And I feel even worse, cuz this is a short chappie. Lolz. But hopefully a good one!**

**CH. 6**

** Present...**

_Blood… there was so much blood…. And the screams, they pierced Neal's ears, screwing his brain shut and freezing his muscles…. The blood… it pumped out of the ragged hole, squirting, and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't do it, couldn't do anything… Until it stopped. And there were sounds around him, and they were coming back, and David was dead, and there was nothing he could do---_

Neal screamed. Peter jumped, nearly knocking his chair over in the process, and grabbed the bedrail, muscles tense, hand already reaching for his gun, only to find it gone. Neal sat straight up, then fell back flat, grasping at his wound.

"N-Neal!! What's wrong?!"

Neal lay gasping, eyes shut tight.

"Neal?"

His eyelids slowly fluttered open, limbs quivering, face white. Peter immediately stood, hands tentatively fluttering, uncertain.

"P-..Peter." The whisper was raspy and quiet, the voice shaken.

"Yeah, Neal. Right here."

Neal blinked, rubbing his shoulder with a strange expression on his face. He glanced around for a moment, visibly relaxing as the seconds ticked by.

Peter frowned. "Neal? You okay?"

"Yeah… Yeah, sorry." Neal shot him a smile. "Fine. Just… had a dream."

Peter nodded, slowly sitting back. "Some dream, huh?"

Neal looked away, biting his lip. "Yeah. Some dream."

"You wanna… uh, talk about it?"

Neal shook his head. "Nah."

"'Kay."

There was silence for a minute before a doctor walked in.

"Morning, Mr. Caffrey! How are you feeling today?"

With a glance to Peter, Neal replied heartily with a 'fantastic'.

The doctors eyebrows raised. "Well, that's good to hear. May I take a look at that wound?"

And so began the tests. Neal hated this part of the hospital. Okay, well… he hated all of the hospital. But especially the tests.. and the gowns…. And the food…

"You're looking great."

The comment brought Neal out of his mood, and he turned to the doctor with bright eyes.

"So how long 'til I get out of here?"

"Glad you're so eager to leave," the doctor commented with a wink. "Should be in about… one or two days, if all goes well."

Neal's face fell. "Not today?" He put on his best puppy dog expression.

"I'm afraid not. Bullet wounds don't recover overnight, you know."

Neal leaned back, arms crossed, looking for all the world like a pouting child. The doctor laughed.

"Lighten up. Maybe you'll get a lesser sentence for good behavior."

With a chuckle and a snap of discarded gloves, the doctor left. Peter didn't miss the immediate change in Neal's demeanor. He sunk into a darkness, the normally invisible lines in his face deepening.

"What happened, Neal? He just said you could get out in a day, that should make you ecstatic."

"Nothing." Neal turned away from the agent, pulling the sheets up a little higher.

Peter sighed. Obviously, Neal wasn't in much of a talking mood. The agent couldn't help but be curious, though. Neal had never talked about nightmares before… not that he would, Peter supposed, but still… he'd been acting so strange lately, even before the… incident.

"Neal… come on, tell me what's wrong."

Neal's shoulders sagged, and he turned to Peter with a haunted look on his face. "I…before I met you…"

Peter sat forward in anticipation, listening carefully. He was honestly surprised he didn't know something from Neal's past, something so significant.

"Peter, I…. I had…."

Peter's brow creased. He had no idea what could be so hard for Neal to admit.

"I had a brother."

Peter's eyes widened, shock putting a vice on his heart. A _brother?! _He sat back. "Wow." He licked his lips, sitting there for a moment while this new information sunk in. "Well… what was he like?"

Neal glanced over, looking somewhat surprised. "Well… um, he was… Brave. And brash. Always doing things, without thinking.." A wistful smile graced Neal's face as he was caught up in memories. "He was two years older than me, and spent most of his childhood days manipulating our parents. But he wasn't a bad guy… Not at all. In fact, he was probably the nicest guy you'd ever meet.. as-as long as you didn't mess with me. He was very… protective, especially after mom and dad died. We grew up, he showed me the biz… we had our disagreements, but things always straightened out. He looked after me."

Peter was silent for a moment. "So… what happened?" In all honesty, he was almost afraid of the answer.

"We got in deep with some bad people. They wanted money we didn't have, you know, the usual… but this time, they had the resources, and they weren't just mindless petty thieves. These guys.. they were big-time. We ran, but they always found us, and eventually…"

Peter closed his eyes. How had he not know this? A revelation struck him suddenly.

"That's how you knew, isn't it? That's why…" Peter trailed off, hand coming up to his chin, lips pursed.

Neal didn't have to answer. He turned his head away as old, previously forgotten memories came roaring back, crushing him beneath waves of unwanted emotion. A tightness took hold of his throat unbidden, and Neal threw an arm over his eyes, unwilling to show the tears that were suddenly rolling down his cheeks.

* * * *

**A/N: I was in the mood for some angst. Reviews are the drum to my stick. **


	7. Safe?

**Ch. 7**

**A/N: See, now this is why I hate writing crime stories like this… I have to make sure I cover all my bases. :D The problem with my writing is I rush it, then make mistakes and miss things, and there's all these loose ends… I'll try not to make this confusing, and cover everything, but if I miss something, please correct me. Anyway, on that note: here 'tis. Chapter seven. :3**

** * * * ***

George Clemence leaned back in his chair, a dirty halo of smoke floating around his face. He chewed pensively on the end of his cigar. His op had gone… okay. Not like he expected. He'd caused Burke a lot of pain, to be sure… He chuckled at that. Not as much as he'd caused his little lackey, the ex-con.

Now there was an interesting person. Psychology had always piqued George's interest, but for the life of him, he couldn't understand what went through that blue-eyed consults mind. What would cause a perfectly good felon like that to turn all goody-two-shoes so suddenly? Yes, he would definitely like to take a closer look at Neal Caffrey.

* * * *

Peter pressed his foot on the brake and threw the car into park as it pulled up to his house. Next to him, tapping his foot impatiently, was Neal, who'd been released that morning. He turned to the agent, opening his mouth to speak. Peter held up a finger.

"Before you even say anything, yes you have to stay here, no you can not go back to June's, and no, you won't be working for at _least_ another week."

Neal blinked, then visibly sagged. "Aww, come on, Pete… I don't want to be a burden…"

Peter opened his door, stepping out. "You know as well as me you're no burden. Besides, Elizabeth has been asking about you incessantly. She'll be overjoyed to see you."

Frowning slightly, Neal cocked his head. "Speaking of… just.. I mean, why didn't she just come to the hospital?"

"She did. You were always asleep."

"Oh."

Peter chuckled, grabbing Neal's bag. "Alright. Come on, and brace yourself."

Neal followed Peter through the door. "For what?"

Elizabeth suddenly came dashing out of the kitchen, pausing only for a quick peck on Peter's cheek before wrapping Neal in a huge bear hug. He grimaced, but returned it. Elizabeth pulled back, fluttering her hands and clucking like a mother hen. Peter grinned.

"That." He turned away to put Neal's bag in the guest room.

"Neal… I've been so worried! I mean, after the-the video, and I mean, I came to see you, but you were asleep, and you looked so pale and small and there were all those machines, and I mean you got _shot _and I was so worried and—."

Neal raised an eyebrow, sitting on the couch and folding his hands over his stomach.

"Elizabeth. I'm fine. See me, here? Fine. No worries." He flashed his brightest grin. It worked.

Elizabeth's shoulders relaxed and she came to sit by Neal, pressing her lips together in that cute little worried-yet-relieved-at-the-same-time look and hooking her arm through his elbow. It was at that moment Peter came into the room. He glanced at them and sighed, but said nothing as he plodded into the kitchen. Neal grinned crookedly.

"You'd better go love him. I think he's getting jealous," Neal winked, standing slowly with a hand subconsciously hovering over his stitched-up wound.

With one last glance and a sigh, Elizabeth nodded. "Alright. You go up to your room and get comfy. Lunch is almost ready."

Neal nodded and smiled as he climbed up the stairs, shaking his head. How these people had grown so close to him, he'd never know. But it felt good… to finally have a family again. After such a long time with no one.

* * * *

Clemence stared at a brightly-lit screen that showed a weary-looking Neal Caffrey trudging up the stairs in Burke's house. He'd ordered his goons to install small cameras all over outside the agent's house—posing as cable workers, of course. The villain smirked, turning round in his swivel chair to stare at a fuzzy feed that just barely showed the room in which the ex-con was staying. Neal sat on the bed, pausing a moment before opening his suitcase and beginning to unpack it. Clemence knew that if there was any time to strike, it'd be now, while the man was still weak from his wound. Lucky one, he was. Clemence had been sure he'd killed him, underestimating his strength. Ah, well. It'd only make it all the more fun next time.

* * * *

Peter leaned against the kitchen sink, absentmindedly staring out the startlingly clean window. He smiled. Elizabeth cleaned when she was nervous. That was a lesson he'd learned very quickly after they married. The very first night he'd worked late, he'd come home to a spotless house. Surprised, he'd asked her the occasion. She, of course, being young and not used to his work then, had simply started sobbing. She'd gotten much better since then, though. The window fogged from the contented sigh that escaped his mouth. Had he ever been lucky.

"And how are you doing?"

Peter turned around, pulling the very woman he'd been thinking of into his arms. "Whatever do you mean?" He queried, eyes twinkling as he twirled her round so she was facing him. Her beautiful face beamed up at him.

"You know very well what I mean. You were actually with Neal, had to… so how are you doing? And tell me the truth, you know I can tell when you're lying."

Peter nodded, blowing a breath out his nose. "I'm fine. Got a little worried in the middle there, but…. Don't worry about me." He pulled away. "Need any help finishing dinner?"

Her lips quirked. "No. You go out in the living room and relax, I've got it." She gave him a gently shove.

"Alright." He started out the arch.

"Oh, and tell Neal to wash up."

Peter nodded obediently, heading to the stairs. He frowned at a strange sound from above. Was that coming from…?

"Oh, crap."

Peter sprinted the rest of the way up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He reached Neal's doorway and paused momentarily, putting an ear to it, listening intently. The silence scared him more than any amount of noise would. Peter backed up and kicked the door in, gun out and extended. His heart sunk to the floor at the sight. Neal was nowhere to be found. Peter swore violently and kicked at a stray scarf on the floor. He heard a noise in the doorway and pivoted, gun straight out in front of him. He lowered it in surprise at the sight of Neal, pale and shocked. Peter swore again, holstering the weapon.

"Wow, Peter… a little jumpy?," Neal inquired, examining the now-weakened door hinges with a cocked eyebrow.

"Agh… I'm sorry, Neal. It's just, I heard something, and then you weren't here, and I just…"

"There is such a thing as using the bathroom, you know," Neal chuckled, moving to walk into the bedroom.

Peter was giving the door hinges a closer look as well, now. "Man, Elizabeth's going to kill me…."

Neal chuckled, but the laugh soon turned to a hiss of pain. Peter turned around just in time to see the blood drain from Neal's face and his knees buckle. Peter's eyes widened and he managed to catch him, but in the process, accidentally pulled on Neal's injury. Neal cried out and Peter cursed yet again, pulling Neal to his feet and onto the bed.

"Geez, Peter… gotta get a… cuss jar, huh?" Neal managed a weak smile.

Peter rolled his eyes. "What the heck was that, Neal?"

Neal grunted, turning to lie down. "Accidentally strained it, I guess." He glanced at Peter, who didn't look convinced. "Really, I'm fine."

Peter sighed, but decided not to push the matter. "Okay." He rose. "Anyway, I came up here to tell you that Elizabeth said to wash up. She's almost got dinner finished." He walked to the door, but paused, glancing back at Neal.

Neal sighed. "Peter… I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were getting soft." He grinned cheekily at the agent's scoff. "Get down there and help Elizabeth finish."

Peter shook his head, but strode off. As soon as he was out of sight, Neal turned onto his side, groaning softly. His arms were wrapped around his middle, face locked in a grimace. Shallow breaths were all that could be heard throughout the room for a minute. Neal gritted his teeth, suppressing another moan.

"Why is this happening?" He whispered. They'd said everything was better…. And it should be.

Slowly, he relaxed.

_After hospital twinges, _he assured himself. _Nothing worse. Happens all the time…._

And he almost believed it.

* * * *

**A/N: *grins slyly* Ahh, yes. I do believe we're getting somewhere, here. Honestly didn't expect to write that much (meaning all in one sitting… yay! Getting it back!), but here 'tis… you're New Years present, complete with a dash of Neal whumpage. Reviews are the…. Well, the new to my year. :D Any fanfic resolutions??**


	8. Trouble in Paradise

**Ch. 8**

Clemence leaned back in his chair with a malicious grin, relishing in watching the would-be-perp squirm. His man had done well, getting in there earlier without so much as a squeak and slipping into the bathroom, of all things… sliding out like a ninja just before the snitch had gone in. It was ingenious, really, what he'd done, and it would take at least a few hours for his old buddy to figure out what it was. And in that time… well, there really wasn't that much.

Clemence grinned and sat back, ready to watch the show.

* * * *

Neal slowly rose and stumbled out the door, leaning against the wall and taking a breath to get himself together. The steps in front of him loomed like an impassable mountain. He sighed and gripped the railing like it was a life line, forcing himself to walk normally.

_Nothing is wrong…. It's all fine and… dandy. _

Peter was just finishing setting the table as Neal walked in, and he looked over.

"Hey, just in time."

Neal nodded with a grin. "You know me. Gotta be punctual."

Peter rolled his eyes, setting a last fork down and turning back into the kitchen, where the smell of turkey and candied yams wafted from. Any other time, it would've made Neal's mouth water, but now it just made him nauseous. He slid into a chair, folding his arms and gingerly laying his head on them, trying not to show it when another twinge ran through his side.

"Neal?"

Elizabeth's voice made Neal look up, jostling his injury. He winced. Elizabeth frowned.

"Are you okay, Neal?"

"Yeah, fine. Just a little tired."

Elizabeth rose an eyebrow, but nodded. "Okay. You just tell us whenever you don't feel well, alright?" She walked around the table to where Neal sat, setting a bowl of mashed potatoes down on the way. "We're your family now, Neal, whether you like it or not, and you don't hide things from family, alright?" Neal looked at her, genuinely touched. He nodded. Elizabeth smiled. "Okay, then. I'll tell Peter to get in here and we can say grace and dig in." She spun back into the kitchen, returning shortly with a glowing Peter who was holding a pan of turkey in his arms.

They sat, Peter said grace, then began serving. Neal tried to keep up a happy demeanor, he really did, but he could tell they could sense something was wrong. He was hardly eating anything, and knew his skin was even paler than normal.

"Neal, you sure you're okay?" Peter asked after a while. "You love Elizabeth's cooking, and you haven't even touched your plate."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just… don't have much of an appetite, that's all."

"You just got out of the _hospital_ and you don't have an _appetite?_ The food is all you complained about in there!"

"Exactly. I think I've still got the… smell on me."

Peter cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "Come on, Neal. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Really, it's just--." He broke off with a gasp, scooting his chair out and folding over his middle, arms wound around it.

"Neal!" The name came simultaneously from Peter and Elizabeth, and they both ran around opposite sides of the table to the man.

Neal was hardly breathing, jaw clenched, trying not to move for fear of the agony that had suddenly sparked all across his torso. The couple reached his sides, kneeling down but unsure what to do. Elizabeth spoke first.

"No more lies, Neal. What's wrong?"

His blue eyes darted over to Elizabeth's deeply concerned face.

"I don't… know…"

Elizabeth stared at him a moment longer, drilling into his soul, it seemed, then finally broke her gaze away, glancing to Peter before back to Neal's plate and then Neal himself.

"Can you move?"

Neal sucked in a breath through his teeth and shifted in his chair before reluctantly nodding, bracing himself.

"Alright." It was Peter this time. "Elizabeth, you take that side. Let's get him to the couch."

She nodded, and they both pulled an arm over their shoulders. Peter counted to three before the two heaved up, Neal choking back a cry and he stumbled between them to the couch. They lowered him gently onto the cushions.

"Hey.." Neal whispered, the expression on his face that of someone just noticing something. "Where's the… dog?"

Elizabeth almost laughed, looking at him in disbelief. "Sent it to a friend's house when I learned you were coming from the hospital. Didn't want to, I don't know, introduce unwanted germs, I guess." She shrugged, and Neal managed a shaky smile.

"So… what is going on here?" Peter queried, rubbing the back of his head with one hand.

"Wish… I could tell ya." Neal grunted, turning onto his side and closing his eyes tight. Sweat dappled his brow, dripping down onto the couch.

"You haven't talked to anyone since you've been discharged, haven't done anything that could've… I don't know, done this?"

"Pete… been with you the whole…. Time."

"Yeah, I know, I just… Well… what about in the hospital? Did anyone there seem… suspicious?"

"No…"

"Should I call somebody? If he's … like this, shouldn't he go back to the hospital?" Elizabeth was talking softly to Peter now.

"No…"

They both turned at the soft protest. Elizabeth's brow creased in sympathy. "Neal.. I know you don't like it, but look at you! You can't just… just stay here, we can't take care of you…"

Neal struggled to sit up. "No, I'll be fine, it's just a little…" he paused, gritted his teeth, breath stolen for the moment. "Setback."

Peter cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, looks like it."

"Really… please…" Neal started to rise, but Elizabeth's hand on his shoulder halted him.

"Don't even think about it. If you _insist _on staying here, you're not moving. We'll keep you here for now, but if you get _any _worse, if _anything_ happens, I'm calling an ambulance."

Neal looked at her in gratitude. "Thanks… 'Lizbeth…" Neal panted, trying to keep his voice steady.

Elizabeth just shook her head. "Don't thank me yet."

Neal smiled. "Right."

Peter sighed, hands on his hips. He took Elizabeth's elbow and guided her away a few feet.

"Elizabeth… are you sure about this?"

She licked her lips. "Peter.. he just got out of the hospital. I mean… I know it might not be smart, and I don't want him to be like this anymore than you. But… did you see his face? When he said… I mean, I just can't… I'm sorry. I'll—I'll call."

Peter softened. He wrapped Elizabeth tightly in his arms. "Nah. It's okay. And if it all goes bad, I mean… we'll call. You're right, he'll be okay, it's Neal we're talking about. Probably just stressed, right?"

Elizabeth nodded.

Neal turned over on the couch so he was no longer facing the couple, breathing quick and shallow. He suppressed a groan, arms tightening around his abdomen. He didn't want to worry Peter or Elizabeth and he sure didn't want to go back to the hospital. He was probably being an idiot… but, in all honesty, he felt… safer, more comfortable… here. The hospital just was too open, with too many strangers and fake smiles.

Neal subconsciously pulled his knees up to his chest, bowed head just touching their tops.

"Neal?"

Neal started and quickly turned over, straightening. The shock of pain that traveled down his body surprised him, and he couldn't hold back a sharp gasp.

"Neal… you okay? What was that?"

"Ahh.. nothing. Just stretched a little far."

"…. Okay. Do you need anything?"

"I'm.. a little thirsty."

Elizabeth nodded and strode off into the kitchen to fulfill the request. Peter walked over to the couch, sitting on the arm by Neal's feet.

"So… are you sure you don't got any idea what this is?"

"None. It just… I don't know."

"So what is 'it', exactly?"

"I just… it hurts."

Peter frowned. "Well, when did it start?"

"After we got here, I guess. I mean, I didn't feel like this in the car."

"So… could be an allergy?" Peter was grasping at straws and he knew it, but it killed him to see Neal like this… so short after the tragedy of days ago.

Neal smiled. "Could be."

Elizabeth came out of the kitchen, then, cup of water in hand. "Could be what?"

"Ah, nothing."

She set the water down on the coffee table, within Neal's reach. He moved to grab it but stopped, breath catching in his throat. Elizabeth and Peter tensed, the former already turning towards the phone. There was a moment of breathless silence, then Neal pulled back and curled in on himself again, tighter than before. Without a word, Elizabeth nearly ran into the kitchen to the phone. Peter dropped to his knees by the couch.

"Neal. Hey, look at me. Neal?"

Neal heard Peter's prodding, but couldn't bring himself to look up. His muscles quivered, sweat beginning to dampen his shirt. Peter set a hand on Neal's trembling shoulder, but the ex-con flinched away, a small cry bursting forth from his pale lips. Peter was about to turn to see if Elizabeth had dialed yet, but she was already in the room, face white, holding the phone in a trembling hand.

"Peter…"

He knew something was wrong as soon as the first syllable left her mouth. "What?"

"The—the phone isn't working. I think… the line's cut. We… we can't call."

* * * *

**A/N: Whew. That was long-ish. :D You like? Getting into the self-indulgent whumping again *shies away*. Lolz. Things are heating up again. Poor Neal, he just never can catch a break, can he? Reviews are the curve to my ball. **


	9. Discovery

**Ch. 9**

_A/N: Ahh! I'm sorry!! It's been such a long time, I don't know what happened… agh. Well, anyway, I'm getting back in the swing of things so… Yeah. Be warned, things aren't getting any better. *evil grin*_

"Jones! Where the heck is Burke?!"  
Jones glanced up, withholding a smirk at the slightly reddened face of Hughes bearing down on his desk.

"Neal was discharged today. He's taking him home."

Hughes muttered something about a babysitter before slapping a thick file down on Jones' desk.

"Got a guy. Call him, you're gonna need Caffrey for this one."

Jones turned to his boss in protest. "Hughes, Neal was _shot. _He can't work!"

"There's such a thing as working from home, you know."

Hughes walked away before Jones could object. The agent sighed and turned to the file, flipping through it while he dialed. After a few rings, he began to grow nervous. Peter always picked up on nearly the first. An involuntary sigh of relief blew through his lips when a harried voice picked up.

"Peter?"

"No… no, this is Elizabeth…"

Jones picked up on the tone right away: hoarse, worried, bordering on hysterical. But there was another edge to it, of hope, as if she'd just realized something.

"Elizabeth? What's wrong?"

"It—it's Neal… I don't…"

Jones frowned, a small finger of worry inching its way into his chest.

"Elizabeth." He paused. "Calm down. I need to know what's going on."

He heard her take a deep breath, and the line was silent for a moment before she came back on, sounding much more in control.

"It's Neal. He's… in trouble. But our phone's been cut, and…" there was a hiatus, and the sounds of a short commotion before Elizabeth came back on, breathless again. "And we can't get out!"

Jones pulse picked up speed. "You can't get out?"

"No… they—the blocked the doors… they're waiting outside…"

"Waiting? Who?.... Who's waiting? Elizabeth?"

There was a long beep, and the beginning of a robotic voice. Jones cursed and slapped the phone shut, practically running to Hughes' office.

* * * *

"Hello? … Jones? … _Jones!_" Elizabeth choked back a sob as she closed the cell phone.

Not for the first time today, she felt at a loss. Helpless. Peter was occupied with Neal, who was writhing in pain on her couch, and she couldn't update Peter or help Neal. Outside a surreal motorized sound drilled through the air. Elizabeth turned and began to pace, cell phone still clutched firmly in her right hand. A tear struggled to leak from her eye, but she blinked it back, turning determinedly towards the stairway. Peter happened to glance over and quickly questioned her motive.

"Bathroom," she shrugged, continuing up the stairs.

Peter blinked, frowned slightly, and turned back to Neal. His partner was laid out on the couch, jacket removed, hair plastered to his crinkled forehead. Neal's arms seemed to be permanently locked around his midsection. Peter sighed quietly, wracking his mind for ideas. What went wrong? Neal's were almost classic signs of poisoning, but what from, Peter had no idea. It obviously wasn't in the food, as Peter and Elizabeth had eaten that, too… much more than Neal, in fact. What had he done that they hadn't? He'd come in, sat down… went upstairs… his room.. the bathroom… back down—Peter's thoughts halted as he back tracked. The bathroom! He stood. Elizabeth!

"Neal, I'll be right back. Hold on, 'kay?"

Peter saw the slightest of nods before he shot up the stairs, pulse racing wildly.

"Elizabeth!" He yelled, knocking on the door. There was no answer. "Elizabeth!"

Still nothing. Taking a long breath through his nose, he stepped back and shifted his weight back, preparing to kick his leg out. But before he could, the door opened.

"Elizabeth?" He asked, a little calmer. From inside the room came a soft voice.

"Peter? What are you doing?" She poked her head out the door, and an overwhelming wave of relief swept over the agent at the sight of her beautiful face.

"Liz.. ah.." A tinge suddenly sprinkled his cheeks, but it quickly vanished. "I found out how they got to Neal."

Elizabeth stood quickly, a first aid box in her hands that she'd dug out of the closet. Her eyes were wide.

"What?! How??"

"The soap."

Elizabeth looked at him disbelievingly. "The…. The soap."

"Yes. That's the only way he could have done it.." Peter strode to the sink, grabbing a towel to pick the still-sudsy white bar up in. "It has to be able to be absorbed through the skin. I've never seen anything quite like it. I'd get it back to the lab, but…"

"We can't get out." Elizabeth quietly finished his sentence. "But Jones called…. He knows something's wrong! They'll be here… soon." The kit was gripped in Elizabeth's hand so hard her knuckles were a stark white.

Peter nodded, and the pair turned wordlessly back to the stairs, neither voicing the thoughts bouncing through both their minds. They didn't know the poison, didn't know if it was fatal, or how long it would take to be completely absorbed through Neal's bloodstream.

For all they knew… Neal could be dead within minutes.

* * * *

Clemence grinned at the fuzzy picture of Peter carefully cradling the bar of soap in a towel.

"Clever, Petey." He purred. "I'm afraid you're still a little off, though. Maybe I can give you a hint." The smile on his face grew as he twisted a small something in front of him.

He turned the speakers down just as a deafening scream rang throughout the Burke's house.

* * * *

_A/N: I'm soo mean, I know. Hope that made up for the long long long wait? The shows started up again, so that means I'll probably be writing a lot more. :] Reviews are the head to my phones. _


	10. Engergizer Bunny

**Ch. 10**

_ A/N: Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long!! The sheer length of this chappie should make you very happy, though :D HEY! ONE HUNDRED REVIEWS!! WOOO!! Wow. Never thought I'd see the day :] Here is your thanks. _

Peter and Elizabeth halted at the bloodcurdling cry that echoed through the stairwell, glancing at each other for a moment before simultaneously sprinting down the stairs. Peter pulled ahead and flew around the corner, practically sliding to a stop by the couch. Neal had managed to pull himself into a sitting position, and was now leaning over his middle, hardly breathing. His forehead was touching his knees. Peter pulled up next to him, setting a hand on his back.

"Hey, hey. Breathe, Neal, just breath easy. It's okay, just stay calm."

Elizabeth had reached them and now set the box on the coffee table, staring at the scene with wide eyes.

"What happened?" She questioned softly, to no one in particular.

No one had an answer.

* * * *

Lauren peered out the window of the van anxiously, leg bouncing in her seat. She couldn't believe this. An agent, a consult, and an undeserving wife… all stuck in their very own house!! And with one apparently injured… or something. Jones had said Elizabeth hadn't been able to clarify anything before she was cut off. The large car barreled around the corner, and Lauren bit her lip, willing it to go faster. Behind her, Jones sat, going through old files to see who would've had the desire, resources, and freedom to do this. Soon, they came upon the house. The two agents were out of the van before it stopped.

Outside the quaint dwelling, men clad in black were scattered, drilling strange Plexi-glass looking pieces of something over the doors and windows. When they spotted the van, they disappeared, a few pulling out guns and taking a couple shots. Ignoring them for the moment, Lauren went straight for the door, pounding on the sheet that had been put up. It held strong. Stepping back and warning Jones, she cocked her gun and shot the material, point-blank. It held, but a small crack appeared. Mouth thinning into a grim line, she turned to Jones, not having to voice anything. He nodded and pulled out his gun as well, muttering quietly under his breath.

"Hold on, guys. We're comin'."

* * * *

Clemence couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of all that was going on. It was delightful. Of course, soon he'd have to intervene, but he figured he had a few more minutes before that had to happen. He could simply sit back and enjoy the show. Sipping a strong drink from a martini glass, Clemence leaned back and grinned, reveling in his ingenuity. He briefly thought back to his wondrous escape.

He'd been able to slip out the window while Burke was otherwise 'preoccupied' with his lackey. He had, of course, sealed it behind him. Leaving his men behind—he could get more easily, and they'd cause a distraction, anyway—he'd simply strolled away from the scene, unnoticed. Everyone inside was rather busy with his minions.

A hearty laugh rolled off Clemence's lips. Oh yes. Everything was going perfectly.

"E-excuse me, sir?"

A shaky voice intruded into Clemence's thought and he turned, an irritable expression skewing his features.

"What?"

"The—the agents have arrived at um, Mr. Burke's house."

"You think I can't see that?!"

"Yes, I mean… er, . But, the—the technicians, er, scientists, er, um.."

"Spit it out before I shoot it out."

"Yessir, sorry sir. Your doctors estimate Caffrey has roughly two hours before the, uh, the nanobots detonate."

"And what happens then?" Clemence growled, knowing full well what did but wanting to hear it anyway.

"Well, either they will simply disintegrate and pass from his system, or…"

"Or?" Clemence prompted, feral grin marring his already-scarred face.

"Or, as they are still experimental, they may block up in his heart."

"And what would that cause?"

"Well, first, excruciating pain, then, er, respiratory failure, followed by death. At least, that's what they've been able to determine. There could, of course, be other possibilities, there hasn't been much tes—"

"OUT!" Clemence roared. The lanky man who'd been standing there shaking was out the door before the shout stopped echoing.

The former FBI agent turned to the monitors, frowning. The twerp had taken up a good deal of his time. The agents at Burke's were almost through the door. He'd have to leave now.

Clemence grinned and stepped out the door, the feel of a gun cocking sending shivers down his spine.

* * * *

Elizabeth jumped at the first shot. The ones after that sounded like heaven coming down; sweet rescue. She managed a peek out of the front window and her heart leapt at the sight of Jones and Lauren breaking through a barrier blocking the front door. She hurried back to the still-bent Neal, placing a gentle hand on his thigh and making the briefest eye contact before his gaze went back to the floor, jaw tight. At the feel of tremors running through his body, a shiver of absolute rage swept over Elizabeth, and she took a deep breath to expel it. Whoever had done this…

Neal's next breath caught in his throat, and Elizabeth gripped his arm.

"Hold on, Neal. Breathe. They're here. Jones and Lauren are here, and they're almost in. You'll be better in no time, it'll all be over real soon. Just hold on for a few more minutes, okay?"

Neal nodded, but the action was slight and shaky. His brow furrowed for a moment as another breath wheezed through tight lungs. Peter, coming back from the kitchen with a wet cloth, frowned and hurried over, gently pushing Neal back into a laying position and placing the cloth on his forehead. Neal blinked, trying to push himself up a little.

"Neal—"

"Peter…" Neal spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours. Peter leaned over. "Can't… chest… tight… Can't—breathe…"

Peter cursed under his breath and slid a hand under Neal's back, propping him up. Neal gasped, then gritted his teeth. Peter swore that he'd kill Clemence. Really, who else would or could have done it? No one. Only his old nemesis, who'd come back, because apparently shooting someone wasn't good enough for him. Peter heard a shout from outside, and turned to get a glimpse of red through the window. He frowned deeply and pulled Elizabeth from the pane, leading her to her knees next to him. He softly instructed her to stack pillows under Neal's back to prop him up. She gathered said pillows and followed the suggestion, and he stood and strode to the window, peering out through the strange material that the sun was glinting off of. Outside, standing in front of Jones and a now-unconscious Lauren, was Clemence. He was holding a blindingly red baton in his left hand. Jones had his gun pointed straight at the man's face. Peter clenched his fist, willing the gun to go off. The screen behind Jones was shattered.

"Come on, Jones… kneecap him or something!" Peter muttered before realizing something.

Jones had probably used the last of his bullets on the screen. He was completely defenseless, and it was only a matter of time before Clemence noticed, too. Sure enough, a moment later, the baton was flying through the air. Peter hardly saw it before it struck Jones' straight between the eyes, and there was nothing the agent could do. Jones sunk to the ground.

"Wait a minute… where's the driver?" Peter whispered incredulously, glancing around.

As if to answer his question, the loud crack of a single shot echoed through the clear air, and Clemence went down. Peter strained his neck to view the ground, and pounded the wall in frustration. Clemence was still going for the door, blood leaving a trail down his leg. It must've just been a graze. Peter frowned at a movement and a glint by Clemence's right hand. His eyes grew wide, and he pounded on the window, desperately trying to get the attention of the driver, who was crouched by the van's front. The man glanced to him, puzzled. Peter frantically pointed back to Clemence and made a slashing movement with his hand. The driver cocked his head, then seemed to gasp, looking back at the villain only seconds before his knife sunk into the agent's neck.

"No!" Peter yelled, punching the wall again, leaving a dent this time.

He heard a pained grunt, and Peter turned to see Neal curl in on himself again, trembling harder than before. The door handle was turning. Peter threw himself into the kitchen and grabbed the first, biggest knife he saw. He ran back out just in time to see Clemence entering, grinning in feral, demented ecstasy. He twisted the baton and stepped towards Neal. Peter immediately intercepted him, brandishing the knife. Clemence chuckled, shaking his head. He flipped the rod, catching it on the opposite end and revealing a dial.

"Hey, Petey." He purred. "Wanna see somethin' cool?"

With a flourish, Clemence pointed the rod towards Neal and twisted the dial clockwise a couple notches. Neal froze for a second then cried out hoarsely, grabbing blindly at the couch, nearly ripping the cover in his grip.

"What did you do to him?!" Peter roared, torn between checking on Neal and keeping Clemence completely in his sight.

"Oh, Petey. So naïve. Soap… good observation. Got it quicker than I thought you would. But you're just a little bit off."

Peter glanced back at the couch, where Elizabeth had moved up, hands on Neal's face. His eyes were locked on hers, and she was talking to him in urgent but soothing tones. Peter turned to Clemence, hatred burning in his eyes. His words were clear and dripping with fury.

"What. Did you. _Do?_"

"So angry." Clemence looked toward the couch, smiling. "You've heard of nanotechnology, right, Peter?" The agent simply nodded, not liking at all where the conversation was going. "Well, we've developed it to quite wondrous heights. So high, in fact, we've put them into a toxin that can be absorbed through the skin. And… we have total control. They are robots, after all."

Peter looked down at the rod in Clemence's hand in a new light, eyes wide.

"I see you've realized what this is for," Clemence said, displaying the baton. Peter lunged for it, but missed. "Ah, ah, Petey. Not quite yet. Oh, yeah. Check this out." He fiddled with the controls, a sickly excited look in his eyes.

Neal suddenly grew pale and limp. Elizabeth grabbed his shoulder.

"Neal? Neal!" She turned on Clemence, all former fear dissipating. "Stop this! What did you do?!"

"Oh, simply put him out of his misery." At Elizabeth's horrified look, Clemence rolled his eyes. "For awhile. He's just unconscious. Now, Petey." He flicked something on the rod, and Neal awoke abruptly, sitting halfway up before falling back with a hiss.

"You're sick," Peter spat. "Why are you doing this?!"

"You really don't get it yet, Petey?" Clemence queried, squinting.

"No." Peter answered bluntly, fumbling with the knife. "No, I don't. Would you care to explain to me?"

Clemence chuckled. He was doing a lot of that lately. "Oh, you'll figure it out, Petey. You always do."

Clemence grew sober quite suddenly. "Now. Get up. Get the snitch on his feet and follow me." He turned to the door.

"Wait! Where are we going?" Peter demanded. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell us more."

Clemence's face fell fast. His eyes narrowed. "Is that so?"

Before Peter could do anything, he'd pulled up the baton and thumbed the dial. Elizabeth pulled back as Neal yelled through gritted teeth, body going stiff. He panted, eyes filled with desperation locking on Peter a moment before closely tightly.

"Okay! Stop!" Peter cried, throwing the knife away though he knew he shouldn't and turning frantically to Neal.

He knelt and grasped the ex-con's shoulders, heart wrenching at the pained grimace and shallow gasps. Behind him, Clemence was grinning toothily, looking for all the world like a devilishly malicious fox.

"And that's only at seven."

"Will you turn that thing off? He can't very well walk like—like _this._"

Clemence dialed the bots down to three—sweet relief for the weary blue-eyed form on the couch.

"Now get up."

Peter and Neal did so, the agent supporting the younger man all the way. Peter gave Elizabeth a look that clearly said _stay put_ as Clemence led them out the door. He headed to a van parked around the corner and motioned for the two to get in. They did so, climbing through the double doors and into a dark, cramped space. Clemence slammed the doors behind them, and they soon felt the van pulling out.

* * * *

_A/N: So, was it good? Oh, yeah! Side note: Did you guys SEE the preview for the next episode?!!? Omigosh!! I feel evil for saying it, but I'm soo excited… It looks crazy intense. And hey, who knew Peter had a Playboy side? ;) Haha. Reviews are the sand to my paper. _


	11. Summer Fun

**Ch. 11**

_ A/N:Aaagh!! What?! What happened to time!? I'm sorry. I can't believe how long it's been. Ugh. I should probably stop apologizing, though, because that infers that I'll be faster next chappie and I probably will, but you know, if I keep having to do _this_, obviously… well, yeah. Pssh. _

_So just a random note… the last chapter was named in reference to the famous bunny because that's what this fic is like… it just keeps going and going… :] Oh my goodness…. So, (okay, two weeks ago… :c sorry!) last episode wasn't quite what I was expecting, but WOW! That was freaking amazing. And hilarious. Neal drugged.. singing… stumbling… genius. And when he told Peter he was the only one he trusted I just fell to pieces. Love it. By the way, not that any of this fic is, but this chapter especially is not for the kiddies. Gets pretty darn dark. You've been warned._

* * * *

Peter Burke was trained as and FBI agent not to panic. In any situation, he was physically trained to stay cool and collected. Freaking out could only get people hurt. But now… in the back of an insane man's van going to God-knows-where, with a trembling, barely coherent Neal, that training was failing him completely.

"Hey, Neal, stay with me. Come on. You've gotta stay strong."

Neal glanced at him, maybe nodding, but Peter couldn't be sure if it was actually a nod or if they'd just gone over a bump. The agent tipped his head back against the wall of the van, briefly closing his eyes. This was insane. Clemence had gone completely off his friggin' rocker. _No, screw that, _Peter thought. _He had no rocker to begin with. _

Clemence had always marched to the beat of a different drum. Back when he'd been Peter's partner, that had been good and bad. It had given him new and different perspective on most cases, but also… on the people. He had a much darker edge to him than most people saw, but spending half his young life with the man, Peter had seen it. Or at least, part of it. There was a specific time that had stuck with him. They'd been investigating a string of stolen art pieces that had eventually turned into serial killing after the perp began killing every art collector he stole from.

_ "Ugh. I never get used to this." Peter turned away from the ugly scene on the bed in the luxurious room. _

_ Clemence didn't. He peered at the blood spatters clothing the wall and floor in a grotesque pattern like it was the most interesting thing in the world, department camera clutched firmly in his right hand. Moving closer to the body on the bed, his eyes narrowed. _

_ It was a girl, mid-twenties. She was quite pretty—or at least had been. Now, though, her body was mauled, features marred by black, blue and crimson. The killer's MO was an eighteen-inch old-fashioned dagger that he'd stab through the victim's left eye. The girl had struggled, that much was obvious from the visible blood and skin under her fingernails. Her stomach was deeply slashed, blood and guts spilling out over the edge of the bed. Her one good eye was still open, staring vacantly at the ceiling. Clemence leaned over, taking a snapshot of her face. He stepped back, capturing the whole messy scene. Peter frowned and searched the wall for the spot the painting had been in. He found it quickly, as it was one of the only clean spots on the pale green wallpaper. _

_ "You know, we really have to hand this over to another department after this." _

_ Clemence said nothing, but Peter swore he'd seen a flash of angered depression on his partner's face. It was immediately covered by one of casualness. _

_ "Yeah, I know."_

_ "I'm glad, personally. This stuff makes me sick." _

_ Clemence glanced at him. "You're in the FBI, Pete. You should be used to it." _

_ "You should never 'get used to it', George. Not this crap. It's disgusting. No matter how many times you see it. Why do you think I'm in the White Collar division? This doesn't usually happen."_

_ Clemence merely shrugged, and Peter shook his head, looking away. Sometimes he really worried for his partner. _

_ "Hey, Pete…" _

"Pete… Peter…."

Peter snapped out of his memory, mentally scolding himself for getting that out of it in the first place. He turned to his newest partner, features softening.

"Yeah, Neal."

"We stopped."

Peter paused a moment and cursed himself yet again. How had he not realized?

"Right, right. Well, then, we can't be too far out. He's only been driving for what, thirty minutes?"

Neal just shrugged, face with a little more color than before. The doors opened then, and Clemence was revealed, eyes feral and dangerous. The grin on his face somehow seemed wilder than before.

"Come on out, boys and … well, boys. We're here…"

Peter frowned at the sing song voice Clemence was using. It made him seem even more… unstable. Like this was all some sick game.

"Out!"

Peter pulled Neal to his feet, pulling a trembling arm over his shoulder. Neal was still out of it, even though Clemence had dialed the freakin' thing down and it was put away for the moment.

"Come on, Neal… you've gotta man up and pull yourself together. It's not over yet."

Neal glanced at him and mumbled a quiet 'still here'. Peter shook his head and followed Clemence through a gate and into… a carnival.

"Seriously?!" Neal whispered. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"Exactly my thoughts." Peter rasped back. He glanced at Clemence, who was still gleefully leading them on, back turned. Peter thought fast. "Neal, can you run?"

"What?"

"Are you able to run?"

A flash of realization swept across Neal's face, and he looked behind them a moment.

"No guards? It can't be that easy."

"It's worth a try."

"Can't argue with that."

"Alright. Ready?... One… two…. Three, go!"

Peter and Neal turned as one and booked it, out the gates and past the van. Clemence heard their footsteps and pivoted around, features skewing into an expression of fury. He marched to the gate and reached into his jacket, pulling out something bright red. Neal had just enough time to mutter an 'oh, crap' before collapsing. Peter, a bit ahead, pulled back and spun around. Neal caught his gaze, and clearly mouthed '_go_'. Peter's jaw dropped slightly and he shook his head. Clemence caught up to Neal and pulled him up by his hair. Through his grimace, Neal managed to say it again, a pleading look seeping into his eyes. With a locked jaw and final glance back, Peter shook his head and took off running, out into a nearby clump of trees.

"Well, looks like Peter's just as unfaithful as always." Clemence sneered, forcing Neal to his feet. "You're on your own now, buddy boy."

* * * *

_A/N: Omigosh!! I can't wait TWO WEEKS!! Why, TPTB?! WHYYY? _

_ Anywho. That wasn't as bad as I thought. It's going to get worse though.. I just can't resist delving into the insane villain's psyche. It intrigues me. And hopefully, it does the same to you, my dear readers. Reviews are the getaway to my van. :]_


	12. Catching Up

**Ch. 12**

_A/N: For those of you who don't know, TPTB=__**T**__he __**P**__owers __**T**__hat __**B**__e. Cuz they are making us wait a whole half month for another eppy :[ Anywho, onward…_

Neal turned his fiery gaze on Clemence, words hard. "Yeah, looks like it."

Clemence's grin never dimmed, and the turned the 'bots back down, nearly all the way. Neal tried not to show his relief. Clemence chuckled and turned to the rusty gates with a faded clown's face atop it, grip moving to Neal's collar. Clemence hurried him forward, towards the first building on the grounds—the House of Mirrors.

"Real original," Neal quipped.

"I've always loved the classics," Clemence replied.

He prodded Neal through the doors, shoving him to the ground once they reached the center. Clemence then began to pace, slowly circling the fallen Neal.

"So what happens now?" Neal queried, pushing himself onto his elbows.

"You seem to love the classics too, Neal. You tell me."

A deadly tone had crept into Clemence's words, a subtle yet fatal malice lying beneath disgusting cheerfulness and excitement.

At that moment, a violent shiver racked Neal's lean frame. And it had nothing at all to do with the cold cement he was lying on.

* * * *

Peter wanted to scream. Wanted to run. Wanted to throttle himself, shoot something, hit someone, _anything_ to dispel the vice of guilt that had been steadily tightening around his sternum with every step away from Neal. He left. He. Left. Left Neal with that sick freak. Who knew what he could be going through at this moment? Peter shuddered and shook his head vehemently to expel the pictures that were suddenly running wild through his imagination.

"Sunuva_gun!_" Peter turned and kicked savagely at a nearby lamppost, faded red paint _poof_ing off in a cloud around his shiny black shoe, marring the glossy surface with specks of blood.

After Neal had told him to go, Peter had run for a few minutes before doubling back and coming up from behind the carnival, trying to collect himself enough to come up with a plan. Really, there wasn't much to work with. He had no weapon, and Clemence was more than his match in melee. He'd proven that back in the day, when they'd trained together.

_Peter circled Clemence on the mat, first examining his stance to find any weak spots. He could see his partner doing the same, a dangerous tilt to his head. Peter halted, shifted his weight to his right foot, and shot it out, ducking at the same time and throwing an arm out to keep his balance. Clemence caught his foot and shoved it, knocking Peter on his side. Peter used the momentum to propel himself into a roll, coming up behind Clemence and kicking him in the lower back, shoving him forward. Clemence caught himself, though, and pivoted, slamming his forearm into Peter's sternum and knocking the wind out of him while kicking his feet out from under him. Peter collapsed to the floor and Clemence went with him, pinning the former to the ground, sweat dripping into his eyes, which were slightly wild. Peter coughed, and Clemence released him, turning away and grabbing a towel. When he turned back, he was normal again. But Peter had seen that glimpse of madness. And it terrified him. _

Peter shook his head and turned a corner, walking into the main path through the abandoned carnival. To each side were old booths of rotting wood, torn and muddy toys still hanging from the sides. Peter wondered why all this was still here. Didn't these things usually move? Or if they were permanent, stay cleaned up when they weren't in use? It didn't make sense. _Then again, _Peter reminded himself. _It is Clemence we're talking about… nothing having to do with him makes sense anymore. _Up in front and slightly to the left of Peter was the section of the carnival with the rides. A few small roller coasters, one of those falling tower things (Peter never was into things like this), and looming above all of them stood the Ferris wheel. When El had dragged Peter to one of these things six months into their dating period, one of the only things Peter had really enjoyed was the Ferris wheel. It was a classic, showed you an aerial view of all the lights… besides, it had been where they had their first kiss. Peter couldn't stop a grin at the sweet memory of Elizabeth sidling up next to him, right at the very top, and pulling him down…

Peter clenched his fists. He had to focus. Find where Neal was, and save him. No matter what it took.

"All right…" he muttered, stepping forward through a long-dead arc of lights. "If I were a crazy person with a hostage, where would I go…?"

* * * *

Elizabeth was shaking. And sweating. And hyperventilating. Basically, she was all-around freaking out. Jones had woken up and tried to calm her, bringing her water and a blanket, comforting her, trying to get her to lay down, but nothing seemed to be working. She was now pacing the living room, hands running repeatedly through her hair and jumping at every little sound. After she'd inspected outside and dragged Renny (the driver)'s body away, shaking her head sadly, Lauren had come in and joined the effort. After a while, seeing that the only thing that would help was time and getting Peter and Neal back, she'd retreated into a corner and phoned Hughes a second time (the first had been immediately after she'd awoken), and explaining they needed to stay at Burke's house a little while longer. Surprisingly enough, their boss had shown some sensitivity for once and agreed to let them stay, even promising to call whenever anything happened.

She let Jones and Elizabeth know the good news, then hobbled into the kitchen, rubbing her temples softly and turning the sink on. It felt odd being in her team leader's home, especially without him their.

Everything was different without him. And his shadow, for that matter. However annoying Neal could be at times, it was impossible not to get caught up in his charm, and his missing presence was like a hole in the very air. The atmosphere seemed dangerously electrified, ready to burst in a deadly explosion of conflict. Lauren only hoped they could find the two men before they were too close to the bomb to be saved.

* * * *

Clemence was gone. Had been for at least twenty minutes now. But Neal knew he was watching him, surveying him somehow, seeing every little thing he did. Neal dare not run, as he knew the consequences of that. In fact, he hardly moved, just sitting there, with his back against a mirror, every moment in the silence building the tension. It was driving him absolutely mad, not knowing what was going on, not having the ability to even guess a prediction. Clemence was completely unpredictable.

All the other bad guys he and Peter had faced so far together had been different, but all painted from the same palate. They were all after the same things: money and fame. Clemence… Neal had no idea what his motive was. No idea why he was keeping him here. And that petrified him.

He tried to tell himself to calm down, take deep breaths, that panicking was exactly what Clemence wanted. Only he knew that couldn't be right because he didn't know what Clemence wanted.

A cold sweat trickled down Neal's spine, and his hands began to shake. He couldn't stop it, and from there it only seemed to get worse. A belt wrapped around his lungs and squeezed, shutting off his oxygen, and his heart pounded. Bells clanged through his skull, disorienting him further. Somewhere, in a far, dark corner of his mind, _panic attack _blared. But he couldn't sort it out through everything else. Veins of darkness began to smudge his vision, and Neal rolled his shoulders back, gasping for air. But none came. His lungs seemed cut off, and his world was spinning. His hands grasped at nothingness, clawing for some kind of lifeline, a relief. Nothing came.

His heart felt like exploding, firecrackers of cells pounding out through fragile arteries. A clack echoed around the room, amplified a thousand times by the adrenaline pulsing throughout Neal's body. A chuckle followed, and his pulse skyrocketed. Finally, his body could take no more, and a merciful ocean of darkness swallowed him.

* * * *

Clemence grinned wildly. This was more fun than he could've imagined. Of course, he'd have to get to the prying soon, but for now, Clemence was just going to sit back and watch the snitch break.

It had taken long enough. Clemence had left the central room nearly half an hour ago, and the traitor had just sat there, looking for all the world like a perfect little schoolboy. But then… he started to shake. Clemence leaned forward in his seat, with a perfect view of the twit. Smoke and mirrors were his specialty. He'd designed a system with the mirrors of the funhouse to allow him to see anyone in there without actually being there himself. No cameras, wires, or mikes of any kind needed.

Clemence took a moment to bask in his ingenuity, then quickly returned to viewing the ex-con completely break down. Even for an attack of that magnitude, it took a while. Once again, Clemence had underestimated the guy's strength. But eventually, the strain was too much on that stringy little body of his, and he passed out. Clemence laughed, the sound ringing around in the funhouse like bells on Christmas day. He quick-stepped over to the still form lying on the cement, pulling some rope from a chest he'd kept hidden nearby. It was easy to tie Neal up, and once he had triple-checked his knots, heaved him over his shoulder and started out the maze of reflections. This…. Was going to be good.

* * * *

_A/N: There we go! That wasn't too bad of a cliffy, was it? Better than my normal fare, eh? :D It was a longer one for ya, too. Yay! Reviews are the type to my writer. I must say, I'm so very flattered by you guys! I can not be_lieve _the feedback this is getting. Seriously, I want to very sincerely thank every single one of you. Anywho. The next chapter is going to be one heck of a ride, so those of you with a fear of heights may want to take a step back… _


	13. Height of Horror

A/N: Hey! I'm back. Been awhile. Did you miss me? If any of you are still out there XD I am terribly sorry, and I didn't even say this was on hiatus (unless you checked my profile page). It's just, my laptop broke. Really, really bad broke. Like, unfixable. And silly old me didn't back up anything. Wooo. :/ So, I've been trying to fix that for the past couple weeks (ahem…months) and finally finally got my hard drive back (thank you Computer Genius uncle!). Anyway, with that said, here we go.

**Ch. 13- Height of Horror**

Peter was walking past the octopus ride when it occurred to him. Clemence may have been new and so far unpredictable, but he'd always loved classic things. Surely that, at least, must have stuck with him. And the most classic setting for horror movies in a carnival… was the House of Mirrors.

Peter broke into a run, fists clenched, legs pumping. His mind tried to tell him to come up with a plan, but all he could focus on at the moment was saving Neal. He could figure something out when he got there. Taking a corner at what had to be Mach 5, Peter suddenly halted at the eerie tunes of a ride starting up, music slightly out of tune from being dormant so long. Light from behind lit up the path in front of him in a bloody wash, and Peter turned slowly, heart sinking further with every inch he spun.

There in front of him, two rows away, was Clemence, dropping an unconscious Neal into a Ferris wheel seat.

Peter swore viciously and poured on every ounce of speed he had in him to get to the Ferris wheel before they went up. But it was too late. Clemence had started it up before getting in, and was already rising to the halfway point by the time Peter got to the control console. Clemence saw him and cackled, smiling crookedly at Peter's useless efforts to stop the ride. Upon reaching the top, he reached behind him and, quicker than Peter could see, chucked something down from so high above, hitting the panel in front of him with remarkable accuracy and sending sparks showering over the agent. Peter threw up his arms and stumbled back, coughing away smoke. When it cleared, he saw a long dagger sticking up from the machine, halting the ride with a sickening grinding noise that reverberated throughout the park.

Peter grabbed the knife and wrenched it out, but the damage was done. The agent looked up in horror to find Clemence lowering Neal over the side of the car, the only thing keeping him from falling to his death a rope around his wrists.

"Hey!" Peter yelled. "Stop!"

"Calm down, Petey! He's not in any danger."

"Are you _insane? _He's hanging four stories above the ground from a _Ferris wheel!_"

"You know how strong of a grip I have. He'll be fine…. As long as he doesn't struggle too much. And tells me what I want to hear."

Peter threw his hands out, head thrown back to be able to see Clemence clearly. "And what do you want to hear, George? Whatever you want."

"Oh, not from you, Petey. I have everything I need from you. But him… now it's him I'm interested in. I don't get him, Pete." He pause, and grinned. "And you know how much I hate not understanding things."

It was at that point Neal's eye fluttered open. He blinked, obviously trying to get his bearings. Peter clenched his fists, wishing he could do something, but not knowing at all what to say.

The moment that Neal registered what was going on was evident. Contrary to what Peter may have expected, the man froze, eyes going wide. He glanced down, squeezed his eyes shut, and looked up, hands wrapping around the rope and gripping hard. His breaths became so short Peter couldn't even tell he was breathing because his chest was moving so little.

"Well, Sleeping Beauty awakens."

Neal glared silently at Clemence with a burning coldness that surprised Peter. The hatred emanating from the hanging man was tangible. Clemence didn't seem to notice.

"You seem quite smart, Mr. Caffrey. Tell me, how do you plan on getting out of this?"

Neal said nothing. Clemence's eyes narrowed and he loosened his hands, letting out the rope a good two feet. Neal's eyes shut tight, chest seizing.

"I'd suggest you cooperate. You really have nothing to barter with here."

For the first time since he'd awoken, Neal spoke. "Oh, don't I?"

Clemence visibly piqued. "No. I don't believe you do. But if you think you might, go ahead, share with us."

Peter was just as baffled. Even now, hanging there, he had something up his sleeve?

Through hardly-muffled struggling breaths, Neal chuckled, a drop of sweat falling to the ground.

"I know… about… the Charisse Diamond."

Suddenly, Clemence wasn't so cheery. He glanced down at Peter, then quickly turned and tied the rope around a handle on the edge of the chair. He then walked to the other end, leaning down over the edge to get a better look at Neal.

"How could you possibly know about that?"

"Easy. You're not as… clever as everyone thinks."

Neal's arms were trembling now, and his chest was heaving, but that spark was coming back into his eyes that Peter hadn't seen for what seemed like years now. It flamed a hope somewhere in him, and while Clemence was distracted, he started slinking around up to the huge frame in front of him. Above, the showdown was escalating. Peter only hoped he'd be able to reach the two men before Clemence did something completely out of line, like cutting the rope.

"How did you find out?"

Clemence's furious voice roared throughout the dead carnival, nearly drowning out the tinkling music drilling through Peter's temples. The agent grabbed a bar and heaved himself up, climbing into the first chair. Easy. He'd be to the top in minutes. Unfortunately, Neal didn't have that much time. Peter saw the rod before Neal did, and used the anger that burned hot in his veins to fuel his climb.

"One more chance, pretty boy. Spill."

Peter spied the flick of Clemence's thumb and cursed the man, hearing Neal's pained groan even from far below.

"I.. you were the only one…. I saw…the file. You really like…. Smoke and mirrors. Twelve guards… even I'm impressed."

To Peter, this was all nonsense. But it seemed to be really getting to Clemence. He was actually getting a little worried. The man seemed genuinely furious. Peter wasn't sure what Neal was planning, but from the increasingly red shade of Clemence's face, he wasn't sure how well it was going. It sure didn't seem likely that Clemence would just pull Neal back up. In fact, just the opposite. Clemence pointed the controller at Neal like some magic wand, eyes narrowed to slits. Peter's climb turned frantic. But then, Clemence laughed. Well, it was more of a hiss. Peter glanced up to see the man smiling, still staring straight at Neal.

"Very smart, Caffrey. Impressive. But you know, that really isn't leverage. What are you going to do, call the police?" He snorted. "Yeah, I don't think so. In fact… You've just signed your death warrant. Now I can't let you go free."

Peter almost froze at those words, but forced himself to keep going. He was so close, just three cars away… Clemence hadn't even spotted him. He seemed to have forgotten all about Peter, focusing only on Neal. The madman's focus had turned on him in the end, then.

But then, Clemence turned. Peter ducked, one car away, peering out through a tiny hole in the metal. Holding back a gasp at the sight, Peter's mind raced. Clemence was picking at the knot on the side of his car, quickly tugging it apart. To the side, Neal dipped, swallowing hard. Peter fought hard to keep his composure, but his wildly racing pulse and clammy hands were already admitting what his mind wouldn't. His partner was going to die if he didn't do something _right. Now. _

The knot was almost gone. Something changed in Peter's mind, and clamping down on any doubts he might've had, he rose and charged, lunging out of his chair and grasping the bar of Clemence's pulling himself up before the man could react and flipping him over the side. Clemence managed to grab the edge of the seat and glanced up at Peter, mildly surprised.

"So, Petey…. It comes full circle. Our final showdown, eh?"

"Look, George… no one has to get hurt here. Just… you know the drill, go peacefully, you might even get a lesser sentence."

"Always the honorable one. You know what, Pete? The jail life isn't for me. Can't be cooped up like that. Nah, I think I'd rather just go out in a blaze of glory." He pulled out that bright red controller, and Peter's heart sank to the ground. "I gotta say, Pete. It's been fun."

With that, he dialed up the thing as high as he could before wrenching on the knot, finally letting go and falling, falling forever to the hard ground. Time slowed. Peter grabbed for the rope flying by, but it slipped through his fingers. He dove to the edge of the cart, lunging blindly, everything else a blur.

And Neal was falling, falling forever….


	14. Resolution

_A/N: Well, crap. Crap. Crap. I am soo so insanely sorry. I had no idea how long it had been. Life got away again… Summer months at a summer camp are not as lazy as most. Anyway, I'm not going to sit here yelling out excuses. I can only hope a few of you are still holding on. I've tried to reply personally to reviews, but I don't think I got everyone. Sincere apologies if that includes you. I will definitely get all of you next time. :/ Aye. _

_Anywho, we're nearing the end of this fanfic. There'll certainly be more to come afterwards, but it's been a wonderful, fantastic time with all of you. I can't believe the support you all have given—its incredible, and I can't thank you enough. _

_So enough sappy-ness. Here's a little more whump before you go. ;) Much love to you all!_

**Chapter 14-Resolution**

Neal was surprised. He'd imagined dying before—who hadn't?—and had always thought it would be this terrifying, pain-filled experience. But it wasn't. Sure, he was scared. He was falling to his death, for freak's sake. And yeah, it hurt. His entire body was throbbing. But still, it was strangely… peaceful, other than that. He actually had time to think. Actually think… about his life. And strangely, he found it to be pretty fulfilling. If cut a little short. But yeah… surely it could have been worse.

And that was all he got before there was an incredible pressure before total nothingness.

o o o o

If Peter thought he hadn't established some sort of connection with the ex-con before now, all those doubts certainly flew out the window the moment he saw the edge of the rope go over the ride car edge. His vision funneled, and he dove, throwing his entire body over the edge and nearly falling over himself.

But he felt it. Felt the rope in midair, even when he didn't see it through the dots in his vision, and grabbed harder than he ever had before, hardly feeling the burn it created sliding through his palms. When Peter finally dared to look, he thought he'd pass out after the giant sigh of relief that left him.

He'd made it. Neal was safe. Inches from the ground, wrists bleeding everywhere, unmoving… but safe. Peter swore. Violently, breathy, loudly, and in sheer relief, everything crashing down on him and bringing an unbearable weariness with it. He managed to pull back the rope enough to tie it again—though it killed him to do it—and climbed off the ride in record time. He reached Neal and froze for a moment.

"Jeez, Neal…. I'm so sorry…"

He looked even worse up close. Skin nearly translucent, chest hardly moving, red coating his entire arms, running down from where the skinny, tight string had viciously cut through his skin.

At a soft groan from the beaten-down man, Peter leaped into action, grabbing up the knife b y the controls from earlier and cutting Neal down, making quick work of the nylon trapping his sore wrists. Peter reached up to Neal's face, gently tapping it.

"Hey… Caffrey, you with me? Come on, buddy…"

Neal tossed his head, cheek rubbing into the dirt, and Peter winced. He never thought he would see Neal—clean-cut, suit-wearing, always perfect Neal—this dirty. The thought was bizarre, but the agent couldn't help it. Adrenaline and its subsequent drain brought strange musings. Still, Peter snapped to attention when the other man's eyes began to painstakingly flutter open.

"Hey, that's it, Neal… come on back…"

An agonized moan flitted through the still air, and Peter realized quite suddenly what Clemence's last action had been. The rod…

"Crap." Glancing at Neal, Peter made a quick decision and sprinted away from the sprawled form, eyes straining through the shadows strewn by the large wheel for that telltale glint of red.

Another groan, louder and definitely closer to an exhausted cry, signaled Neal's complete return to consciousness. Peter cursed under his breath, torn between finding the root of his partner's suffering or going back to be with said partner. He settled for something in between.

"Hey, Neal! Its Peter, I'm right over here." Eyes still searching everywhere. "E-everything's okay now. Its over, got it? I'll… I'll be right there. You'll be alright." He risked a glance to the fallen man and immediately wished he hadn't. Neal was curled on the ground into a tight fetal position. Peter could see the tremors racking his lean frame even from so far away.

Cursing in agitation, Peter kicked through the dead grass with a renewed vigor. Finally, he spotted the bright red beacon. Picking it up and thanking God it wasn't broken, Peter spun the dial completely down and threw it at a post, smiling grimly at the crack that sounded. With that, he spun back around and sprinted to Neal, hands ghosting over the other man's form, determining what was injured, how he could help what to do. Neal's soft voice brought his sharp gaze up to the consultant's face, and his callous, trained exterior melted.

"Jeez, Neal…. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sighing, Neal shut his eyes and gripped the grass beneath him with one hand. "Not your fault, Peter…" Catching the agent's guilty glance, he emphasized his point. "For _real_. Clemence was crazy… nothing you could do about it."

Nodding silently, Peter went back to assessing his broken friend. "What hurts?"

Neal snorted. "What doesn't?" He sighed again, seeming to melt against the ground. "Chest. Wrists. Head."

Peter gave another curt nod, turning to the most immediate wound he could fix—Neal's wrists, cut clean through from the harsh nylon rope. Peter winced in sympathy, quickly undoing his tie and gently picking up Neal's left arm. Spying a water spout nearby, Peter gently tugged his partner the few extra inches over he needed to reach it, still holding Neal's wrist. He took a breath.

"Sorry." Peter apologized in advance.

"For what?"

"This."

With that, Peter turned the spout on—just barely—and pulled Neal's wrist over, letting the freezing cold and thankfully still running water spill over the deep penetration. Neal gasped and instinctively twisted away, whimpering softly. Peter bit his lip but kept his hold firm, waiting until he was sure the risk of infection had lessened. On autopilot again, Peter pulled out his cell and dialed 9-1-1 even while he was tying up Neal's battered left wrist, trying and failing to filter out the man's soft, pained gasps.

At an annoying alert sound in his ear, Peter pulled the phone away in frustration, a muttered 'crap' escaping his lips as he found a simple yet devastatingly disheartening message on screen.

** SERVICE UNAVAILABLE IN THIS AREA. **

"What's wrong?"

Peter looked down at Neal, frowning. He figured he might as well come right out and say it. No use hiding the somewhat obvious. "No service."

"Ah…. Crap is right."

Peter managed a chuckle, moving his sketchy first aid to Neal's right wrist. The penetrations were much deeper here, and the agent was certainly not looking forward to treating them. But it had to be done. So, with a wince of sympathy and a hand on Neal's shoulder, Peter brought the bloodied limb forward and under the steady stream of clear liquid.

Neal actually cried out this time, a short, harsh sound, before turning away again. Peter cursed Clemence, cursed him and everyone who'd ever associated with him after he'd gone haywire. Neal was still writhing, battling against all his instincts to pull away from the pain. A shimmer appeared on his cheeks, and Peter finally stopped, pulling back and taking a deep breath before he lost it completely. After removing his jacket, Peter tore his shirt sleeve off without hesitation and wrapped it carefully around Caffrey's shaking hand and wrist.

"P-peter?"

"Yeah, Neal?" Peter replied quickly, unbuttoning Neal's top layer to see if any damage had been done.

"I don't… feel so good."

Peter froze for a moment, then continued his examination. "Yeah? Funny, you don't look so good, either."

A sound suspiciously like a _pffft_ came from the ex-con. "Who're you kidding? I look amazing…. Always do…"

Peter, finding nothing too out of place, started to button the shirt back up. "Right, sorry, let me take it back. Forgot you're mister perfect." He moved back up, closer to Neal's face. "How you doin'?"

Neal almost chuckled. "Well, let's see… Kidnapped by a psychopath, lowered from a Ferris Wheel, loaded up with nanobots, almost died ten minutes ago… Never been better."

Peter shook his head. Even now, same ol' Neal. "Right. Well, all things considered, you could've gotten off much worse." He slid a hand under Neal's back, not even commenting on the sweat he discovered. "Think you can make it back outside if I help you? We need to get to that van."

Neal said nothing, merely nodding and taking deep breaths. Hitching an arm around his shoulders, Peter stood slowly, keeping still for a moment after becoming vertical for Neal to catch his bearings. After the wait, he started off at a slow pace, allowing Neal to bear at least some of his own weight, knowing he'd feel obligated—the stubborn idiot.

After what seemed an eternity, they made it back to the van. Neal decided that seemed a good time to fall completely unconscious.

"Whoa!" Peter exclaimed as Neal just dropped out of the blue.

He caught him, though, and manhandled the limp body into the passenger seat, quickly buckling him in and patting his knee before sliding over the hood to the driver's side. He buckled, found the key and sped off in record time. Considering he had no idea where they were and couldn't tell an ambulance where they were, he figured this was the better option.

Beside him, Neal didn't stir, skin unnaturally transparent. Peter grimaced and pushed the pedal down further. They needed to get to a hospital like, ten minutes ago.

_Why does the hearing always come first? _

That was Neal's first thought upon entering yet again the land of the living, only to find a stupid, annoying beeping right by his ear.

Other senses filtered in quite quickly after that, the coarse sheets against his hands, antiseptic in the air, bright light shining through even closed lids. He licked his lips, trying to determine how long he'd been out.

Beside him, something shifted, and Neal knew almost immediately Peter was there. Confirming his guess, a warm hand settled over his arm, just above the thick bandages encompassing his wrist.

"Hey. Back with me yet?"

Neal squirmed uncomfortably, trying with incredible effort to open his eyes. Finally, they obeyed his minds commands, and fluttered open, allowing a bright light to scorch his retinas. Grimacing, he blinked hard a few times until they were more adjusted. He then turned left to see Peter sitting in a hard white chair, coffee in hand.

"Hi there."

"… Hi." Neal was surprised at the quality of his voice. It was hoarse, scratchy, and not at all like him. He smiled gratefully at the cup of water Peter held out to him, straw just by his mouth. While he drank, Peter spoke.

"You've only been out a few hours. They gave you some stuff for pain and against infection, mainly for your wrists. You've strained both your shoulders, but a little time and they'll be fine. They were a little worried about your lungs for awhile, because they were taxed so much during the… the time, but that blew over. All in all, you'll be fit to go in two days at the very most."

Neal smiled softly, letting the words wash over him. "Great."

Peter frowned, sitting back in his chair and twiddling his thumbs the way he did when nervousness snuck up on him. Neal matched his sullen expression.

"Hey. Everything okay? What's bothering you?" He asked, voice a little better since the water.

Peter waved him off, as Neal expected. "Nothing."

Neal sat up a little now, shaking his head slightly. "Oh, no way are you getting off like that. Come on, I'm drugged up to here right now and probably won't even remember what you say later. So spill."

Reluctantly, and with much metaphorical foot-dragging, Peter did. "Its just… before… all this, with the book in my office…" Realization triggered for Neal even before Peter said the next words. "You said you didn't want to do this anymore, and now… with all _this,_" the frustrated agent gestured vaguely to Neal and the hospital room, "I figure you're twice less likely to stay on with us now." He sat back, then continued quickly, face somewhat alarmed. "Not that I don't understand. I mean, anyone would freak after that, heck, you're taking it better than most people, better than _I _would, but I just don't thi-"

"Peter."

The softly spoken name had the rambling halted on its tracks. Neal smiled, eyebrow cocked.

"Don't worry about that. I'm here to stay." At that, he raised his hands slightly, grin growing ever wider. Peter stared at him, somewhat disbelievingly.

"Wait… seriously? You're not… I don't know, worried?"

Neal _pssh_ed. "Well, of course I'm worried. Scared to death, to be honest. But that's exactly why I'm not quitting. I mean, who's safer than the FBI?"

Peter stared just a moment longer, then broke out into a smile of his own. He'd read the hidden meaning underneath Neal's words, and returned the gesture with one of his own.

"You're right. Safest place in the world. Nothing can happen to you there."

Neal's face scrunched up for a moment in mock confusion. "Funny. I seem to recall you saying something along the lines of that right before we ran into the man who started all this."

Peter's jaw dropped, and he took a breath to reply, but before the retort could fly through his open mouth, Elizabeth sashayed into the room, drink tray in her hand. At the sight of Neal awake and aware, she beamed, bright and beautiful.

While she babbled on at him, as mother hen-ish as ever, Neal couldn't help but think, this was his family.

And he couldn't possibly have found a better one.

o o o o

Two weeks later found Neal and Peter fully recouped and restless to get out and go. Walking into the elevator to leave for what was hopefully the bust on their newest case, Peter turned to Neal and found an unpromising grin on his face. Suspiciously, Peter cast him a sidelong glance and sighed.

"What?"

"Nothing," Neal insisted, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as they waited for the elevator to open.

"Oh, yeah right." Peter turned full-on to Neal now. "Come on, tell me. What is it?"

As the doors opened, Neal stepped in smoothly, commenting in an infuriatingly casual manner, "Safest place in the world, huh?"

It took a moment to register, but when it did, Peter froze in his tracks, foot paused mid-step into the elevator.

As the doors began moving, Neal leaned back. "Better hope this paper cut I got from that file earlier doesn't get infected, or I'm suing for false advertising."

Peter could do nothing but stare as the doors closed completely on Neal's huge, mischievous grin. The last thing the agent saw before they closed was his amused wink, followed by laughter that could be heard even through the doors, fading as the machine moved away. Finally, Peter found his voice.

"_Caffrey!" _

**Fin (finally). **


End file.
